


and what you've got is magic

by cptnwinters



Category: Band of Brothers, The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, American Hogwarts, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asshole Best Friends, F/F, F/M, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, magic mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-10 10:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10435509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptnwinters/pseuds/cptnwinters
Summary: The day Babe Heffron meets Eugene Roe, he falls through a compartment door on the Hogwarts Express straight into Eugene’s lap. It’s (unfortunately) not the only time it happens.Or: The Hogwarts AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A big big thank you to Kelly, Viktor, and Liz for all the cheerleading and beta reading. Y’all have been magnificent and without you, this fic would probably not exist. Thanks to Shreya who let me yell at her about this series idea all the way back in 2014.  
> And a special thanks to the lovely unicornwebster/unicornweasley who worked on the art for this fic, thank you so so much. You can view her art works on tumblr, [here](http://unicornwebster.tumblr.com/post/159089826188/my-art-for-bluudhavens-fic-go-read-her-story). 
> 
> Just a reminder that while this definitely a play on the Harry Potter world, it is a mishmash of current American culture/British Harry Potter Canon/Canon information from Pottermore and Fantastic Beasts/shit that I’ve handwaved from Pottermore bc there’s some dumb shit there ok. Most Notably:
> 
> Hogwarts is a multi-national franchise school and this one here is in Salem. Ilvermorny exists (as well as many other Big Schools, smaller schools, community run specialty schools, homeschools etc) and the rivalry between the two schools is like OSU and Michigan State when it comes to Quidditch.
> 
> Quidditch is massive – Hogwarts has two games a week in the spring semester, and the final match in April has the two leaders. There’s a series in May between Ilvermorny and Hogwarts. Quidditch in North America is run by the National Quidditch League (NQL. One of many leagues in the world like ice hockey and soccer). Mirror-visions are basically charmed mirrors that play things like TVs. Hogwarts Quidditch also play on mirror-visions, just like college football/basketball/the OHL.
> 
> For a full list of things, check out [my tumblr](http://bluudhaven.tumblr.com/HP-war).
> 
> Lastly, I created a Spotify playlist for this which can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/hammerheartt/playlist/3wXBpbiDD9PNdlQ5ANQ8Aq).
> 
> See the end notes for additional warnings.

The day Babe Heffron meets Eugene Roe, he somehow manages to fall through an open compartment door on the Hogwarts Express, straight into Eugene’s lap.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” Babe manages to blurt out, red to his ears, as he pushes himself away and into an upright position. The train lurches again, but this time Babe finds himself hitting the floor. He expects to hear his brothers, or his best friend, Bill Guarnere, crowing in the background about how clumsy he is, but instead of seeing them lurking by the compartment door, the curious face of the boy he fell onto appears in his line of vision.  
  
“You okay?” the boy asks softly, speech accented in a way Babe can’t exactly pick out. The boy is small, almost too small, and has a weary look about him, thin eyebrows drawn together over beautiful dark brown eyes and lips thinned into a frown. He reaches out a pale, cold hand and helps Babe to his feet, into a seat, and casts a critical eye over him. “You hit the floor pretty hard. Looked like it hurt.”  
  
“I’m alright,” Babe chokes out, embarrassed. He’s not hurt, he doesn’t think. If anything got hurt in his fall, it’s only his pride. He’s been on the Hogwarts Express for the last five hours, and it’s only now, about an hour and a half out from Hogwarts, that he’s gone and embarrassed himself in front of someone he doesn’t know.  
  
At least he was far enough behind his brothers and Bill that they didn’t notice him falling over as well.  
  
The other boy tilts his head, eyes narrowed like he doesn’t really believe Babe, but he nods and sits down on the bench besides Babe. There’s no one else in the compartment at the moment, but there are a cluster of suitcases in the overhead, and they can’t all belong to this boy. Even Babe, whose mom made him overpack, doesn’t have this many suitcases with him.  
  
“I’m Eugene Roe,” the boy says, breaking Babe out of thought and extending a hand with a small smile. He’s in robes, but he’s not wearing house colours, which means he’s definitely gotta be a first year student, just like Babe is. He’s too small to be anything but eleven.  
  
“Edward Heffron,” Babe says, grasping the boy’s hand with a quick grin. “Don’t call me that, though. Only the nuns call me that. Everyone else calls me Babe. Even my mom.”  
  
“Babe?” Eugene asks, only slightly confused. “Nuns?”  
  
“Yeah,” Babe shrugs. “I grew up in a big family, not as big as the Guarneres y’know, but there’s five of us, so mom sent us to muggle elementary school so we learnt how to read and do basic math and everything ‘cause she didn’t have time to teach all of us. The school had nuns? They’re like, these ladies who devoted their life to God or whatever, and they were scary, but boy am I glad to be coming to Hogwarts now. My brothers both say it’s really cool, but they won’t tell me how we get sorted.”  
  
Babe realises he’s babbling, but Eugene seems to be following along, nodding in the right spaces, so he doesn’t feel too bad. He looks like he’s contemplating everything Babe says carefully, which is nice.  
  
“I really wanna be in Gryffindor, like everyone in my family. My mom says we’ve been Gryffindors since Hogwarts opened in America in the 1600s or whatever,” Babe states. He cocks a head in Eugene’s direction. “What about you? Do you know what house you wanna be in?”  
  
Eugene looks down, deep in thought.  
  
“I’m not sure,” he says carefully. When he looks up, Babe can see a small frown on his face, tugging the corners of his lips downwards, and the little furrow between Eugene’s dark eyebrows. Babe kind of wants to press his finger there to ease the look of Eugene’s face – he looks like he’s in pain a bit. “Wherever I get put, I s’pose? No one in my family’s ever gone to Hogwarts.”  
  
Babe blinks.  
  
“Are you a muggle-born?” Babe blurts out, curious. He can feel the blush settling across his face, and he opens his mouth to backtrack immediately. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that! I’d only have anything to say if your family were an Ilvermorny family. Um. Not that that would be bad, either, I guess? As long as you don’t go for their Quidditch team at the end of the year. Uh.”  
  
Mouth, insert foot.  
  
Eugene just laughs, thankfully. His smile kind of transforms his face, rounding his cheeks more and making his nose scrunch up, and overall his face looks softer, less weary, more his age. He looks like he’s glowing from the inside. It makes Babe relax into his seat a little bit, but he knows his face is still a bright shade of red that’s definitely making him look a bit like a tomato.  
  
“I’m not a muggle-born, no,” Eugene says, amusement clear in his dark eyes. “We just don’t ever go to Hogwarts - Ilvermorny either. My grandmother, she teaches everyone in our town – that’s Bayou Chene, real small – but just the Old Ways, y’know? Healing magic, potions, lots of, uh, prayer. Wandless magic, too.”  
  
Babe’s eyes widen so much, he’s almost scared they’ll pop out.  
  
“Wandless magic! That’s so cool!” He can barely imagine speechless casting (and a bunch of the older kids from home returned at the start of last summer, the summer before their seventh year, all complaining about how it was), but wandless magic seems to be on a whole other level. It’s not unheard of, per se, but Babe has never met anyone that knows how to do it.  
  
“Yeah,” Eugene says with a duck of his head. “She’s what you’d call a traiteuse, my grandmother. A faith healer. Just lays her hands on people and heal ‘em. She’s not the only one I know, though. Almost everyone growing up near me was great at healing magic.”  
  
He’s quiet, Eugene is, but he seems friendly enough for Babe to sit and chat for a while. Especially when he thinks about the verified warzone of a compartment that’s waiting for him with the rest of his family. With his two older brothers, the contingent of Guarneres, and the rest of the kids from South Philadelphia milling around Hogwarts (plus Babe’s little sister and brother who are just waiting to be old enough to come to Hogwarts too), Babe’s not sure he’ll ever get to experience quiet like this again.  
  
So he might as well enjoy it while it lasts.  
  
The two boys chat for a while, exchanging stories about growing up in different magical communities (“The city grew around us, so we spend a lot of time with muggles, even though my family are old Purebloods,” Babe explains. Eugene is silent for a moment, like he’s planning what he’s going to say next. “Everyone in my town has magic,” Eugene says. “Been like that for centuries, ever since the French settled there. Lots of Old Magic around.”), Babe’s interest in Quidditch (“I’m gonna play in the NQL for the Philadelphia Phoenixes,” Babe says. “I’m gonna wear that orange, black and white with pride.”), what Eugene wants to do when he graduates (“I want to be a healer,” he says. “I want to help people around the world.”) and what their siblings are like (“Third of five,” Babe sighs. Eugene smiles softly, surprised. “So am I,” he says.).  
  
They’re startled when the compartment door slides open and a skinny boy with dark, curly hair, and deep circles, dark enough that they look like thumbprint bruises, under his eyes appear. Like Eugene and Babe, he’s not wearing house colors, so Babe definitely thinks he’s a first year, like them. He’s carrying what looks like his weight in candy in one hand and his wand in the other.  
  
The boy raises an eyebrow at Babe, and turns to Eugene and shoots off something in rapid fire French – at least, Babe knows it’s not English, and he can pick up a few words here and there from his regrettable fifth grade French classes. Eugene responds back in a sharper tone, eyes narrowing in what looks like disapproval. Babe looks between the two boys and the movement seems to remind them that Babe is there. The new boy rolls his eyes, and Eugene sighs, weary once again, but he nods.  
  
“We got a half hour ‘til we pull into Hogwarts,” the boy drawls in a heavily accented English, fixing a dark and unblinking stare on Babe. He juts out his jaw, crossing his thin arms over his chest, but he doesn’t say anything more. It’s a bit unnerving to say the least, but Babe has had enough experience running from the older kids on his block after Bill and Joe pulled stupid pranks to not let a skinny eleven year old both him.  
  
Well. Not much.  
  
The boy cocks his eyebrow at Babe, chin raised and defiant, and that’s all it takes for Babe to finally get the hint.  
  
“I better get back to my compartment, then,” Babe says, standing. He grins easily at Eugene and gives him a small wave, ignoring the other boy standing in the doorway. “See you at Hogwarts, Eugene!”  
  
“Goodbye, Edward,” Eugene says, sounding a little amused. He definitely looks it when Babe turns around, nose scrunched up at the use of the name.  
  
“It’s Babe,” he reminds him. Eugene only half-smiles back as Babe makes his way out of the compartment, back to his own.  
  
He’s just out of the door when he hears Eugene again, much sharper than the whole time he’d been talking to Babe.  
  
“That was rude, Merriel,” Eugene snaps, voice coloring with disapproval. “I’m sure your mama taught you better than that. I know your Maw Maw taught you better than that.”

Babe doesn’t hear the boy’s – Merriel’s – retort, but he can imagine.  
  
A pair of pretty girls in Ravenclaw robes, a tall blonde girl, and a shorter girl with dark hair, pass Babe, clutching candy and smiling at him before they turn into the compartment he just left.  
  
Which solves the mystery of who all the spare suitcases belong to, then.  
  
Babe smiles as he nears his own compartment, voices spilling out into the train hallway, loud laughs and chatter filling the air. If nothing else, he’s just made his first Hogwarts friend, and he’s even more excited to start the year.  
  
All that’s left is finding out what house he’s gonna be in.

  
  
\--

  
  
Babe gets sorted into Gryffindor the moment the Sorting Hat brushes against his head and absolutely nobody is surprised.  
  
He’s met with loud cheers from his brothers, from Bill and Joe, and from the large group of kids from his neighbourhood, and Babe is definitely red to his ears at the attention, but he’s so pleased to be in Gryffindor with the rest of his family. There are handshakes all around and Bill is introducing him to everyone quickly – which, Bill’s only a second year, how does he know everyone? – before the hall is quiet again for the next sorting. The handful of students (including a boy named Hoobler, whose ears are as big as his smile) get sorted quickly and without much fanfare before an excited hush falls upon the South Philly part of the Gryffindor table.  
  
John Julian (“Just Julian,” he always introduces himself as. “There’s so many Johns in the world but none of them have ever been a Quidditch champion. I’m not taking that risk, I wanna be in the National Quidditch League.”), Babes neighbour from across the street, and life-long friend, ducks towards the Hat when his name is called.  
  
The Hat deliberates for a few moments before crowing, “Gryffindor!”, and the table erupts into cheers again as Julian scampers towards them, limbs moving every which way, big grin etched onto his face.  
  
Babe punches Julian’s shoulder, softly, and beams at him, giving him space to fit beside him on the bench. Julian grins back, a little wild in the eyes, but settles into the bench, relieved.  
  
“Good to have you kids,” Henry Guarnere says, nodding towards Babe and Julian, as Babe tries to introduce Julian to everyone. Babe bristles at being a kid, he’s eleven thankyouverymuch, but Henry just rolls his eyes and continues through the hush falling over their table. “Gryffindor will definitely be grateful to have you next year for Quidditch with me gone.”  
  
He’s not wrong. Henry, at seventeen, is Gryffindor’s best chaser, winning Hogwart’s highest scoring title across all four houses every years for the last four years, and, just last year, he scored the game winning goal in the Hogwarts/Ilvermorny Championship Series. The shiny captain’s badge on Henry’s chest only lays way to his great leadership abilities, but, with him and a good handful of this year’s team graduating at the end of the year (most of them already gathering draft rumours for the NQL), the Gryffindor Quidditch team will need a lot of rebuilding to remain a winning team.  
  
Bill, Joe, Babe and Julian have all already decided that they want to be part of it.  
  
Even as a toddler, watching the mirrors in their parents’ living rooms as players from the Hogwarts and Ilvermorny Championship teams flew out onto the Quidditch pitch, ready for the quaffle to drop, Babe knew he wanted to be Quidditch player when he grew up.  
  
Attention quickly goes back to the sorting, and the children Babe recognises start to blur with the children he doesn’t. He tunes out a bit and instead concentrates on trying to pick out Ralph Spina (another of Babe’s neighbours, and one of his best friends, ) and Eugene Roe. Spina is standing exactly where Babe and Julian left him, grey hat pulled firmly onto his head, but Babe can’t locate Eugene in the thrum of first years until his name is called and he steps up to the Hat.  
  
It takes almost a minute, but Eugene Roe is sorted into Ravenclaw, and he slouches his way towards the table, taking a seat besides the pretty blonde girl from the train.  
Babe fights down the disappointment bubbling in his gut, but claps politely with the rest of the table. Even if Eugene is in another house, Babe still wants to be his friend, still wants to get to know him. Maybe they’ll share some classes together.  
  
Bill narrows his eyes at Babe, clearly picking up the small frown on his face, but Babe only shrugs in response, turning his attention back to the front of the Great Hall where Merriel Shelton, Eugene’s friend, the boy with the unnerving stare from the train is being sorted into Slytherin. Babe watches as the boy saunters over to Slytherin, and sits next to a boy that was sorted earlier, a boy named Burgin.  
  
Ralph’s name is called, and Babe’s attention snaps to the front of the Great Hall, just in time to see his friend stalk across the floor, pulling his own cap off and placing the Sorting Hat on his head.  
  
Anticipation and fear violently bubbles up Babe’s throat. He’s been worried for the last few weeks leading up to the semester about the three of them – Ralph, Julian and Babe – not being sorted to Gryffindor, away from their friends, their family and each other. Julian’s been just as worried, but Ralph’s spent the lead up to Hogwarts trying to reassure them it wouldn’t happen.  
  
(“Mom says we’re too reckless and bullheaded to be sorted anywhere but,” Ralph had said the night before they were due on the Hogwarts Express. “Ain’t got nowhere better for us.”  
  
Bill and Joe had jeered, but Ma Spina was always right, and it eased Julian and Babe’s fears just a little bit.)  
  
Now, the Hat takes its time deliberating and Ralph’s face is turning more drawn in and paler the longer it takes. Ralph’s starting to look annoyed, and even from the Gryffindor table, Babe can see his knuckles turning white where he’s clutching the grey hat.  
  
“Gryffindor!” the Hat yells, triumphantly, and Spina tears the hat off, forcing his own back on and stumbles towards where their friends and family are cheering at the Gryffindor table.  
  
“Told ya, Babe,” Ralph smiles, shaky, as he bumps into Babe and Julian, trying to get them to make room. “We’re all together.”  
  
“Good job, kiddo,” Henry says from across the table. “Almost a hatstall, there. Say, Ralphie, where else did the hat wanna place you?”  
  
“Ravenclaw,” Ralph says with a roll of his eyes. “Can you believe that? Ravenclaw.”  
  
Babe laughs along with his friends, because, really. He’s in Gryffindor with his brothers, his friends, half of his goddamn neighbourhood, and it’s all he’s wanted since his oldest brother, Joseph, came back from his first year of Hogwarts. Life can’t get better than this until, of course, he’s able to play Quidditch.  
  
The Sorting ends pretty quickly after Ralph goes to Gryffindor and food starts to appear at the table, and Babe has to stop himself from gasping. There’s all types of food laying on the table, everything Babe likes and then some. Food Babe doesn’t even recognise appears, but oh, does it smell so good. He piles his plate high, ignoring Bill when he steals a potato off his plate.  
  
It’s not his Ma’s cooking, but the food is pretty damn good.

 

\--

  
The first morning of Babe’s fifth year goes a little like this:  
  
The sun starts shining a little too brightly into his face, which makes him bolt upright in his bed because, shit, he’s at Hogwarts, it’s his first day back, and judging from the way the sunlight is hitting his bed, he’s late. He immediately regrets sitting up so fast because a side splitting headache quickly makes itself known and his stomach lurches, so he spends the first three minutes of his day forcing himself to think through a hangover fog trying to remember a) where he left his wand and b) how to pronounce the words for that anti-nausea spell Spina taught him.  
  
Another three minutes later, he’s out of bed and hauling ass to get dressed and make his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast, feeling only marginally better as he tries to navigate his way through the moving staircases alone because all his friends have already left.  
  
Assholes.  
  
Last night, somebody (Buck Compton, Seventh Year) decided that what Gryffindor really needed to start the school year off right (or not, Babe thinks, as his stomach lurches again) was a party with a good proportion of students across all four houses from fifth year and up – plus the litany of Gryffindor underclassmen milling about the Common Room, all but the first years incredibly unphased by the turn in their evening. Babe is sure that Buck had planned it for when Dick Winters, this year’s Head Boy, and his best friends, Lewis Nixon (usually the resident alcohol provider) from Ravenclaw, and Harry Welsh, another seventh year Gryffindor, were notably absent.  
  
(“I love Dick,” Buck would tell anyone that would listen to him, snickering each time he said it. Every time Buck moved, his Quidditch Captain badge, beautiful and gold, high on his chest, glistened in the warm light of the Gryffindor tower. He shook his head sadly into his cup of firewhiskey, leaning on George Luz and Frank Perconte, before continuing, “But god, he would shut this shit down in a fuckin’ heartbeat. ‘Blah blah, stop corrupting the young ones, Buck!’” he called in a poor imitation of the Head Boy.  
  
From this side of the night, Babe kind of wishes Winters had shut it down.)  
  
Babe somehow arrives at the table just as Professor Smith, the Gryffindor Head of House, starts handing out timetables to his group of friends. He raises an eyebrow, probably at Babe’s dishevelled appearance, before turning back to Bill and Joe and asking them questions about the NEWT classes they want to take this year.  
  
“You didn’t wake me up!” Babe hisses, glaring sullenly at Julian and Spina, who laugh at his face. Somehow, Spina (who had steadily been chugging firewhiskey last night) and Julian (who had smuggled in a bottle of Muggle alcohol and drank a good portion – almost all – of the bottle last night) looked a hell of a lot fresher and ready for the day than Babe does.  
  
He obviously needs new friends. Like, by yesterday.  
  
“Bill came into our dorm to wake you, y’know, motherin’ like always,” Julian says, shrugging. He’s scoffing down what looks to be his second plate of breakfast and isn’t stopping his chewing to talk; the resemblance between Julian and a chipmunk almost uncanny. A couple of the girls down the table look on, disgusted. Julian continues, absolutely oblivious to the looks the girls are giving him, “He said you told him you’d be down in a few minutes so we left.”  
  
Babe, quite frankly, doesn’t remember any of this.  
  
“I don’t remember any of this,” he tells his friends. They laugh, like it’s the funniest thing they’ve heard all year. “And how the fuck are you all so peppy today?”  
  
Spina flashes a potion’s flask at Babe and raises his eyebrows.  
  
“Hangover Potion,” he replies, softly, tucking it back into his robes. “Made some a few days ago. Thought it’d come in handy. Am I right or am I right?”  
  
The boys go silent as the Head of House turns their way.  
  
“Late night?” he asks, pointedly. The boys only shrug as he passes out their timetables. “Please don’t cause me too much trouble this year, boys. I’d hate to make you miss Quidditch. Especially now we’re on that cup winning streak. I have a bet with Professor Strayer riding on it. Don’t make me lose my money, boys.”  
  
He turns away and approaches a gaggle of third year Gryffindors (including Babe’s little sister, Maggie) before the boys can even protest.  
  
“Hey Babe,” Bill chews loudly, right into Babe’s ear, grinning when he’s knocked back into his seat. He points at the timetable Babe’s clutching in his hands and his grin turns more devious. “Looks like you’ve got first period Potions with the Ravenclaws, you know what that means? You get to spend every Monday morning moon over your boy!” He cackles a little bit, grabbing the attention of their end of the Gryffindor table (who glare in turn, because loud noises and collective hangovers do not a good time make).  
  
“He’s not my boy,” Babe mumbles into his eggs.  
  
So, maybe Babe has had an Epic Crush (capital letters necessary, thank you) on Eugene Roe for the last four years (honestly, from the moment he fell into that goddamned train compartment), but it’s not like Babe has actually done anything about it.  
  
He mostly just stares (it’s not mooning, shut up Bill) across the Great Hall at meal times as Eugene smiles that beautiful smile, the one that makes him look like he’s lit up from the depths of his soul, the one that makes Babe feel like there’s something golden beating in his chest. The one time in their entire Hogwarts career that they shared a class, Babe had spent every day gazing from across the room and doodling on his writing pad – so much so that he hadn’t taken notes and nearly failed third year History of Magic.  
  
Other than that train ride in first year, Eugene’s never really had much to do with Babe, just a smile here and there in hallways, small talk about their families after breaks and whenever they end up having to share a table in the library. He’s always surrounded with Renee and Anna, two Ravenclaw girls from the year above them, or Snafu – Merriel only to teachers and Eugene – Shelton, speaking French and doing whatever Ravenclaws do in their spare time.  
  
Hell, Eugene spends more time with Spina, on account of the fact that they’ve both started learning Healer magic under the Mediwitch in the Hogwarts infirmary.  
  
So.  
  
He’s not his boy.  
  
Unfortunately.  
  
But, honestly, Babe thinks he’s happier being sort-of-almost-friends-and-admiring-from-afar with Eugene than taking the risk of asking him on a date into Magical Salem, getting rejected, and then never ever being able to talk to him again because he made it awkward. He just has to deal with his friends’ well-meaning teasing, instead.  
  
“Well, not with that attitude,” Spina signs, snagging a stray mushroom off Babe’s plate and ignoring the sound of protests he makes. Spina’s cap gently knocks Babe in the face when he moves away from Babe’s plate. Bill and Julian cackle, once again, at Babe’s pain. “Maybe this year’s the year you actually talk to him, though, Babe.”  
  
Across the Hall, over at the Ravenclaw table, Eugene flashes a smile in Babe’s direction. Babe can’t help but smile back.  
  
“So sweet,” Julian gushes, pushing his head into Babe’s line of sight. He brandishes a biscuit in Babe’s direction, a stern look on his face. “Save the eyes for Potions, Babe. The rest of us are eating. We don’t need the tooth ache.”  
  
“Shut the fuck up, John Julian,” Babe says mildly. Julian only flashes Babe a wide grin, mouth full of food to the disgust of everyone around him.  
  
“Alrighty,” Spina interrupts. He pushes the flask full of Hangover Potion towards Babe. “Have some of that, don’t wanna be too hungover for Potions. Or cranky. You’re a real dick when you’re cranky.”  
  
The rest of breakfast passes by mostly without incidence, and it’s not long before Babe finds himself squished between Julian and Spina at a desk in the Potion’s classroom, watching the Ravenclaws file in one by one under the watchful eye of Professor Strayer. Eugene wanders in last, reading a book floating ahead of him. If Spina’s noise of interest is meant to indicate anything, Eugene is definitely reading a medical textbook.  
  
The classroom falls silent as Strayer throwing a considering glance around the room. His gaze lingers over the desk arrangements they’ve all sorted themselves into.  
  
“Good morning, everybody, welcome back to Hogwarts,” Strayer says. He casts a wary eye over the desk that Babe, Julian and Spina are huddled over, scorch marks still marring the wood, and sighs. “Last year, as I’m sure a handful of you Gryffindors will remember, was a disaster. So, now that you’ve got yourselves all comfortable, I want you all standing at the front of the room. I’m assigning seating this year.”  
  
Babe and Julian exchange worried glances.  
  
The only reason that Babe thinks he and Julian have ever passed Potions was because Ralph Spina had dragged them, kicking and screaming, into a passing grade.  
  
Ralph knows it, too.  
  
“How are you two gonna pass your OWLs now?” he hisses, eyes narrowed at the pair of them as they scramble to the front of the classroom with the rest of their classmates.  
  
Julian, at least, looks like he’s a hot second from passing out.  
  
“Heffron,” Strayer calls. He points at an empty desk before tossing a considering eye over the rest of the unpaired students. “With Roe.”  
  
Babe feels himself blush as every single Gryffindor, and a few Ravenclaws, in the classroom collectively gives him a knowing look. He fumbles with his bag as he makes his way towards his new desk, and his books slip out, banging loudly against the floor of the dungeons. As his classmates titter around him, Babe ducks his head and prays to Merlin that his ears aren’t as red as he thinks they are.  
  
He catches his reflection in a silver set of scales and finds that, yes, actually. They definitely are.  
  
In his distracted state, he misses Julian’s name being called and his match up with Spina (lucky bastards) who walks up behind him and shoves, sending Babe flying into Eugene’s lap.  
  
“Ooooh, I’m so sorry, Babe,” Spina gushes, faux innocence colouring his tone. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”  
  
Babe can only glare as he pushes himself out of Eugene’s (warm, surprisingly muscular and solid feeling) lap and into his own seat.  
  
“’m sorry, Gene,” Babe mumbles into his hands. “Just ignore Spina, he’s the worst.”  
  
He steels himself before looking up into Eugene’s face. Eugene sits, compact and drawn in as always, but his eyes are sparkling with amusement and his mouth is curling into the tiniest smile. His hair is longer than Babe has ever seen it, and up close Babe can see how it curls at the nape of his neck, ends a few shade lighter like he’s spent lots of time in the sun over this summer.  
  
He looks beautiful.  
  
And Babe has to really work on keeping his mouth shut so he doesn’t let that particular thought slip out.  
  
“I’ve learnt to ignore Spina my entire Hogwarts career,” Eugene says with a small shrug. His accent is thicker than it had been at the end of last semester like it always is after a long stay back in Louisiana. The lilting accent makes Babe want to reach over and hold Eugene’s hand. “’Sides,” he continues, throwing a smile sideways at Babe. “Pretty sure you fallin’ into me is how we met, Heffron.”  
  
Babe has absolutely no idea what to say to that. So instead, he musters up a small smile and tries to concentrate on Professor Strayer and the task at hand.  
  
The lesson goes relatively well for Babe.  
  
Which is to say, it goes terrible under anyone else’s (barring Julian’s, probably) standards.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Babe apologises to Eugene for what feels like the hundredth time. Their Pepperup Potion somehow bypassed the bubbling, vibrant red found in every other cauldron around the room, heading straight to puce with black sparks flickering off the top. “I don’t know what happened.”  
  
Professor Strayer seems confused as well when he announced their potion as a failure.  
  
Eugene frowns down at their workspace, glancing between their cauldron and the instructions in his textbook.  
  
“I don’t really know either,” he says slowly. He raises a delicate eyebrow in Babe’s direction. “Does this happen every time you get near a cauldron?”  
  
The fifth year Ravenclaws have never had to experience the nightmare of Babe or Julian in the Potions dungeon (that honour had always been given to the Hufflepuffs, who had to also deal with Penkala and Hoobler’s less than stellar potion attempts) and all of them look shocked at just how badly Babe messed up a second year potion.  
  
“I mean. Not everytime,” Babe protests. He ignores Spina’s exhausted sigh from the desk behind him. “Just… sometimes, y’know? I’m not very good at potions, but I just wanna be a Quidditch player, right? I just need an Acceptable in the OWLs to make my mom proud, not to actually use it or anything.”  
  
“Well,” Eugene starts, drawing out the word. He falls silent as Professor Strayer dismissed the class, but fixes Babe with an appraising stare. “Hey, maybe… maybe I oughta help you study. You want to pass, I could do without having a potion blowing up in my face this year. Mutually beneficial, right?”  
  
Babe wisely keeps his mouth shut about other activities they could do that would be mutually beneficial.  
  
“Uh,” is all manages to choke out.  
  
Eugene is smiling in his soft, heart melting way, and Babe is finding it really difficult to concentrate on actually answering him, what with his face looking as lovely as it is and the commotion of the room around them. The classroom is loud as chairs scrape and students file out of the room, and everyone is chatting loudly as they try to catch up with each other after a long summer.  
  
Julian and Spina, on the other hand, are standing behind Eugene, nodding empathetically over his shoulder, obviously trying to convince Babe to take Eugene up on his offer.  
  
As if he needs convincing.  
  
“If you’re sure, that’d be incredible,” Babe croaks out. Julian and Spina give him matching grins and thumbs up behind Eugene, and Babe has to stop himself from laughing at how stupid they look as they leave. He flashes Eugene what he hopes is a warm grin and not the nervous, blushing smile he thinks he’s giving as he finishes packing up his gear. “Hafta schedule it around Quidditch, if that’s alright?”  
  
“I’d have to schedule it around my duties in the infirmary as well,” Eugene says as they leave the classroom. “I’m sure we can find something that works for us.”  
  
“Thanks, Gene, you’re a life saver,” Babe gushes.  
  
They smile at each other for a moment. Looking down at his watch (the one Bill got him for Christmas last year from a muggle store. It’s in the Philly Phoenixes’ colours, and it even has Philadelphia written across the watch face, so Babe rarely takes it off) and realises he’s got three minutes to get across the castle or he’ll be late for Muggle Studies.  
  
Honestly, who scheduled his timetable this year?  
  
He says as much to Eugene as he hoists his backpack high on his shoulder and takes off down the hallway.  
  
“See you later, Edward,” Eugene calls.  
  
Babe’s halfway down the busy hallway, but that doesn’t stop him from yelling, “IT’S BABE!” over his shoulder.  
  
Eugene only laughs, but the sound makes something warm settle deep in Babe’s chest.  


\--

  
  
It’s the first Saturday morning of the school year and Babe (along with what feels like all of Gryffindor) has turned up to the school Quidditch pitch for keeper try-outs.  
  
Babe would be a lot happier if it wasn’t seven in the morning, and if someone (Buck) had let him have breakfast before making an appearance.  
  
He’s also probably be happier if his baby sister wasn’t clutching her broom, looking ready to go to a shootout against him, and probably kick his ass in front of almost everybody he knows.  
  
Including their younger brother.  
  
While it’s true that Babe has been Hogwarts best goal scorer three years in a row, but Babe knows for a fact that the only Keeper he’s ever struggled to score against is his little sister. He’s glad she’s in Gryffindor because that would have been a massive blow to his stats at the end of the year.  
  
“Alright,” Buck’s voice thunders over the loud chatter (Dick Winter’s sonorous charm working perfectly, as expected) and stragglers finally make their way to the pitch. “As you all know, Gryffindor’s very own Head Boy and Quidditch captain, John Basilone, the brick wall that lead us to victory against Ilvermorny, once again, graduated last year. So, we’re looking to replace him today with the best keeper Gryffindor has to offer.”  
  
The crowd lets out a cheer, and Buck grins, trademark blue eyes sparkling. He goes on to explain the procedures for the day before ordering all but the keeper prospects to go sit in the stands, away from the pitch and in the shade.  
  
Bill, clutching his beater’s bat to his chest, wastes no time and falls asleep on his girlfriend, Fran’s, shoulder, Babe on his other side. Fran is tossing a snitch that she must’ve stolen from Buck, letting it buzz around her face for a few moments before pinching it out of the air, hands so quick they’re just a blur. Julian and Joe have the same idea as Babe, and sack out on the chairs in front of them, neither of them apparently interested in being awake any longer.  
  
Babe tries to concentrate on all of the prospects but so far he’s only watching his sister.  
  
Even from the stands, Babe can see Maggie’s hands shaking, but she’s got that steely look in her eyes that Babe knows is the same stubbornness they all got from their mom. When it’s her turn for the first drill, she pushes her shoulder’s back and flies confidently to her mark.  
  
It’s small, but Babe’s still unbelievably proud.  
  
“That your sister?” a voice says as a warm body drops into the empty seat on Babe’s left. Babe startles, but catches himself before he falls completely out of his seat. Again.  
  
Babe’s almost ready to fight whoever scared him, but when looks up all he sees is Eugene.  
  
He’s dressed in soft blue and sticking out like a sore thumb in a sea of red and gold, holding what smells like a cup of coffee and muffin towards Babe. Most of the Gryffindors within eyesight are openly glaring at Eugene, eyes distrustful and suspicious (because above all, Gryffindor takes it’s Quidditch seriously) but all Babe cares about is the muffin, chocolate chip (his favourite) by the smell, held under his nose.  
  
Babe takes the offering, grateful, and absolutely inhales the muffin and coffee. He belatedly realises that Eugene had asked him a question and nods roughly.  
  
“Did the hair give it away?” Babe says once he’s swallowed what was in his mouth. Out of all their siblings, only Babe and Maggie inherited their grandmother’s ginger hair. Grandma Heffron always said it meant they were destined for great things. Johnny, their younger brother, said it was so they’d match their Phoenixes’ jerseys when they finally made the league.  
  
It’s a nice dream, and both Maggie and Babe hold onto it.  
  
“She’s good,” Eugene says, as Maggie runs another drill. “I don’t know much about Quidditch but I can tell she’s good.”  
  
“She spent a lot of time practicing with us growing up,” Babe replies through his smile.  
  
That’s an understatement.  
  
With all the kids in the community always wanting to play a game of pickup Quidditch, Maggie was always relegated to keeper. She’d been terrible at first (being six and not knowing exactly how to fly didn’t really help), but Babe had come home from his first year at Hogwarts, eager to practise his shooting, only to find that his little sister had turn into a superstar.  
  
And that she was able to block most of his, Julian’s, Henry Guarnere’s, hell, every single self-proclaimed chaser in the neighbourhood’s shots.  
  
Sometimes, Babe thinks his sister may have the Sight with how she always knows where the shot is going.  
  
But, one day, he hopes that he’ll be able to play for Phildelphia with his sister, Julian, Bill and Joe by his side. And then, maybe, hopefully, the USA.  
  
The empty coffee cup still clenched in Babe’s hand starts to feel heavy and suddenly remembers his manners. “Thank you for the breakfast, Gene.”  
  
“Figured you’d need fuel for our study session after try-outs,” Eugene shrugs. He worries at his lower lip when Babe doesn’t respond. “You didn’t forget about the study session, right?”  
  
As if Babe could forget about the study session.  
  
Although Babe’s excited to spend time with Eugene alone, he’s been dreading their study session since their last Potions class. Babe somehow made a Hiccupping Potion explode, causing Spina to catch the hiccups instead.  
  
So, now, Babe’s not only terrified that Eugene will around to witness more (gross and total) incompetence, but also that he’ll probably have an easy, second year level potion explode in his beautiful face.  
  
“I wouldn’t forget you,” Babe says. He can feel his ears burn as he backtracks. “Uh, I mean. I wouldn’t forget. The study session? Tutoring. That you’re offering. Um.”  
  
Babe can feel Bill beside him, struggling to contain his giggles and goes silent. He tries to subtly dig his elbow into Bill’s side, but the loud, “Ow! Babe!” that Bill lets out, and Fran’s subsequent shushing, shows that failed.  
  
“I didn’t forget,” he shrugs, trying to pull off nonchalant. He probably misses it by a mile.  
  
“Good,” Eugene smiles. The blue of his sweater (baby’s breath, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Babe’s mom helpfully supplies in his head) makes Gene look like an angel in the bright morning light, but it does nothing to hide just how tired he looks. It’s only the first Saturday after classes began, but Eugene’s already looking exhausted to the bone.  
  
A flash of guilt runs through Babe. Eugene could have (should have) slept in all through the morning, but instead, he’s sitting in the stands, weathering glares from overzealous Gryffindors, looking beautiful as always, all to make sure Babe won’t go hungry later.  
  
Babe wants to kiss him, right here, in front of everyone.  
  
It’s probably not a good idea.  
  
He’s thrown from his thoughts when the Gryffindors in the stands break out into loud cheers and gasps and he has to whip his gaze towards the pitch.  
  
Maggie, standing on her broom, has the quaffle in her hand and the world’s smuggest grin on her face. Babe fights down the urge to fly out there.  
  
Besides him, Bill is crowing about how he taught Maggie to stand on her broom (he’s a liar; it was Henry before he went off to play Quidditch in the Egyptian league), Fran is sitting up, not taking any notice of the snitch buzzing around her face, and Eugene’s face is a mix of horror and awe.  
  
“I don’t even know how to fly,” Eugene mumbles when Babe turns to him.  
  
He sounds sad.  
  
Babe finds that unacceptable.  
  
“I could teach you sometime, if you want,” he offers, mouth moving before his brain. He definitely could. If there’s something Babe has always been good at, it’s flying. He’s also started to teach some of the younger neighbourhood kids how to fly during summer, so teaching Eugene shouldn’t be so hard; it’s probably easier than Eugene trying to get Babe to a passing grade in Potions.  
  
“Yeah?” Eugene asks. He’s smiling again, that soft smile that makes Babe’s brain stutter. “I think I’d like that.”  
  
They sit there smiling at each other for a moment, ignoring the commotion around them and, for a moment, Babe thinks they could just be perfect together if he just took the chance.  
  
The moment is broken by Buck Compton, yelling up at the stands, only three prospects left hovering behind him.  
  
“Heffron!” No, not you, Heffron,” he yells at Maggie, who raises a delicate eyebrow. “The other Heffron. Babe! Julian! Get your asses down here, we’re gonna run some formations at these rookies. Let’s see how they hold up… Toye, Guarnere, Peca! You get your asses down here too, let’s give this crowd a little look at this year’s team!”  
  
Babe sighs as the stands erupt into cheers, and reaches down to pick up his broom as he stands up. Smiling down at Eugene, he offers a small, “duty calls,” before following the rest of the team out onto the pitch.  
  
“Oh, Eugeeeeene, I could teeeeeach you sometime if you waaaaant,” Bill teases, once they’re out of Eugene’s earshot. “So cute. When’s the wedding, Babe? Remember me when you’re the trophy husband for a rich healer.”  
  
“Shut up, asshole,” Babe grouses, shoving at Bill. The older boy just laughs and shoves back, grinning, before throwing an arm over his shoulder. “I’ll remember this when Fran finally gets sick of you lying on her couch and eating all her chocolate fuckin’ frogs and leaves you for someone infinitely better looking that you.”  
  
“Not hard,” Joe snarks, clearly not happy to be awake again.  
  
Julian lets out an unattractive snort, and immediately blushes. Fran just laughs, because she’s also an asshole, and it sets them all off as they move towards where Buck is standing, jostling and shoving at each other the whole way.  
  
\--  
  
A couple of weeks later, Babe finds himself blinking into his coffee, gearing up for a pick-up game of Quidditch with a few of Joe’s Hufflepuff friends, squashed between Fran and Joe.  
  
It’s the middle of morning, but the Great Hall is mostly empty, the majority of the castle deciding to use the Sunday as a day to sleep in before classes start to get serious and sleep becomes a distant memory. It’s quiet, only the sounds of gentle murmuring and cutlery scraping across plates fill the air, and Babe is almost full on the smell of bacon and coffee alone.  
  
Aside from Babe, Joe and Fran, as well as Dick Winters, the Head Boy, who has his head ducked in close with Lewis Nixon (from Ravenclaw) and Harry Welsh (from Hufflepuff), the Gryffindor table is deserted and silent. The Slytherin table is in a similar state, with only Liebgott and Grant filling seats, but it’s both a better showing than the Hufflepuff table which has been empty all morning so far.  
  
The Ravenclaw table, on the other hand, is filled with students. Some of them have books out, quietly discussing ideas with each other, while others stare into their breakfast plates, muttering spells and practicing their hand waving.  
  
With one quick glance, Babe can pick Eugene out amongst the busy table.  
  
He’s reading a book, a new medical textbook that he’d been carting around from the start of the week, and Renee Lemaire sits beside him, head tucked over his shoulder, reading passages at a time. She looks up every so often to say something to Anna, sitting across the table, who does nothing but smile back.  
  
“You going to the Salem weekend with your boy?” Joe asks, jutting a chin towards Eugene. Babe rolls his eyes, but bites into his toast before replying.  
  
“Not my boy,” he says through his toast. He takes a swig of his coffee before continuing, “Also, no.”  
  
Joe looks thoroughly unimpressed at that.  
  
“Babe,” he says. Babe has the faintest impression that he’s about to get a lecture here. “You’ve been mooning over this dude for what? Four, almost five, years now? Go talk to him. Ask him out. Stop staring and being sort of creepy.”  
  
Fran nods from Babe’s other side.  
  
“We love you, Babe,” she says gently. “What’s the worst that can go wrong?”  
  
There’s a lot of things that he can imagine that can go wrong.  
  
“Well,” Babe starts. “He’s my partner in Potions, and he’s also my tutor, and if it makes him uncomfortable, that’s gonna make Potions unbearable. And… I like him, y’know? We’re just starting to really be friends. I’m fine with just that.”  
  
Fran blinks at Babe a little sadly at that.  
  
“At least go talk to him,” she says. She pats his wrist reassuringly.  
  
“All this sad staring from across the room is starting to make meals unbearable,” Joe glares down into plate. Babe thinks they must’ve gone over Joe’s self-imposed limit for talking about their love lives.  
  
(Back in Babe’s third year, Joe spent the six months before Bill and Fran got together walking around looking uncomfortable and jumpy.  
  
“All this relationship talk is giving me hives,” Joe had said roughly, scratching at his wrist. “Bill talks about her in his sleep.”  
  
The rest of their group vowed to dial it back.)  
  
“It’s not that easy,” Babe protests.  
  
There’s a commotion at the entrance to the Great Hall; students have begun to stream in for breakfast and a gaggle of Hufflepuffs stumble through, loudly laughing and shoving at each other, walking blindly like a pack of puppies, George Luz leading them towards breakfast.  
  
“Sure it is,” Joe says, stealing a danish off Babe’s plate and ignoring his sound of protest. “Speaking of which, there’s George. I’m gonna ask him out for the Salem weekend.”  
  
Joe leaves the table and swaggers off towards the Hufflepuffs. He slides into the seat beside George, who turns towards Joe and pours him a glass of orange juice as they talk.  
  
“When did that happen?”  
  
Fran shrugs, “I have no idea. You know Joe, he’s quiet about that sort of thing.”  
  
She gives Babe a long appraising look.  
  
“You’re a good egg, Babe Heffron,” she says. It’s something Babe has heard Bill say almost every day, and it strikes Babe just how much Bill and Fran share in their lives; their friends, their vocabularies, themselves. Babe really wants that. “And Babe? For what it’s worth, I think it could really work out, you and him. I think he really, really likes you too. But even if it doesn’t, remember that you deserve to be happy.”  
  
And the thing is, Babe is happy.  
  
He has great friends. He’s doing really well at Quidditch. He’s doing well in all his classes (except Potions despite Gene’s best efforts).  
  
It’d just be nice to have someone there, is all.  
  
“Thanks,” is all Babe says before he slides out of his seat and walks towards where Gene and Renee have their heads together.  
  
He’s just past the Hufflepuff table when Babe’s foot contacts with something solid on the floor and he goes flying into someone’s back. Just as Babe goes to apologize, profusely, the person turns around and Babe finds himself face to face with the skinny boy from the train all those years ago.  
  
Merriel Shelton.  
  
Snafu, according to the rest of Slytherin.  
  
“Hey man, sorry,” Babe apologises. He side steps the boy, but Snafu steps in front of him and he finds himself blocked again.  
  
Snafu hasn’t really changed much from that day on the train; he still has a hunted look about him, eyes wide with deep, dark circles underneath giving way to a lack of sleep. He might be a little taller, but he’s still skinny, and he still has an unnerving, unblinking stare.  
  
Babe’s not intimidated.  
  
Much.  
  
“…Edward Heffron,” Snafu says, fixing his stare on Babe. He has to look up a little bit to meet Babe’s eyes.  
  
Babe looks down with a raised eyebrow.  
  
“It’s Babe,” Babe snaps. He tries to sidestep Snafu again, finding himself blocked, yet again. “Can I help you?”  
  
Snafu’s face transforms from calculating stare to one that looks almost… impressed?  
  
“Alright, come on Snafu,” a voice behind Babe says. A boy (Burgin, Babe’s brain supplies. A chaser for Slytherin) appears and pulls Snafu towards the Slytherin table. Burgin turns back with a small apologetic smile. “Sorry, we’re trying to socialise him.”  
  
Snafu mutters something (probably rude, by the way Burgin throws back and laughs) and the two are out of earshot before Babe can reply. Babe rolls his eyes. He’s a little weirded out, but it seems like every encounter he has ever had with Snafu in his five years at Hogwarts.  
When Babe turns around, he notices that Eugene (along with Renee and the massive textbook) has disappeared from the Ravenclaw table.  
  
Well, it was a stupid idea anyway.  
  
The next weekend finds Babe, Spina and Julian wandering about in Salem, dateless. They duck into the Three Broomsticks, hungry for lunch, and as Babe jostles for a free table in the crowded room, he notices Eugene, pressed into a corner table with Renee pressed into his side, and some other Ravenclaws on the other side of the table. His breath catches in throat and he feels like he’s just been knocked off his broom.  
  
“You alright, Babe?”  
  
“Yeah,” Babe replies, eyes not moving from the corner.  
  
  
\--

  
September retreats into October, leaves changing from green to orange. Babe spends every Sunday evening struggling to make potions in an abandoned dungeon with Eugene trying to guide him away from making yet another cauldron explode.  
  
“Stir four times clockwise, slowly,” Eugene recites over the bubbling cauldron of Herbicide, the night before Halloween. “Slowly!”  
  
Babe slows his stirring, wary of an impending explosion.  
  
Since the start of semester, Eugene had taken a few hours out of his busy schedule each week to help Babe practice making potions. They’ve had eight sessions, and so far, Babe has managed to explode two cauldrons, stink out an entire classroom so it couldn’t be used for an entire week and burnt himself, badly, on his hands. Eugene had healed the burns quick as possible, but Quidditch practice for the rest of the week had been painful, and Buck hadn’t been happy.  
  
(Bill, on the other hand, wouldn’t stop crowing over how cute he found it.  
  
“A healer! For a Quidditch player! Listen, Babe, that’s a match made in heaven. He can heal you whenever you get huuuurt.”  
  
Babe just rolled his eyes.)  
  
“Now, flick your wand and pronounce the spell right,” Eugene says, keen eyes zeroed in on Babe’s hand as he complies. Eugene looks over the potion, nose wrinkling slightly in concentration before he looks up. A smile widens across his face. “Congratulations, Heffron, you’ve got yourself a perfect Herbicide potion.”  
  
The potion is the perfect shade of emerald green, and bubbles just as the picture in their textbook does. Babe breathes out a sigh of relief, happy that he finally, finally, got this potion right.  
  
“I did it!” Babe exclaims. He wraps his arms around Eugene, absolutely jubilant. “Gene, I did it!”  
  
He realizes he’s clutching Eugene to his chest and drops his hands like they’re on fire.  
  
Eugene just smiles indulgently, tired eyes doing nothing to mar the proud look on his face. Babe can’t help but notice the droop at the corners and frowns. Eugene was helping out at the infirmary the night before when the Hufflepuff seeker (Sisk. The Hufflepuff Quidditch team had a habit of calling the little fourth year ‘Skinny’, but Babe was sure that the boy was bigger than Perconte, one of their beaters) had a collision with the ground in practice.  
  
“Late night?” Babe asks. “Luz told me about Skinny this morning.”  
  
Eugene wrinkles his nose and shrugs.  
  
“Wasn’t too good,” Eugene says. “Quidditch doesn’t start ‘til after Christmas break so no one was ready for an injury so early on.”  
  
“Think he’ll be right to play in January?” Babe asks. The Hufflepuff and Gryffindor match up will be the first game of the Quidditch season at Hogwarts and Babe can’t imagine what Hufflepuff will do without their star seeker if Skinny can’t play. Especially as die hard Quidditch fans, and scouts, across the country will tune into their wireless and mirror-visions to watch.  
  
“You think about anything but Quidditch, Heffron?” Eugene teases. In the dim lighting of the dungeon, the flames from the cauldron reflect in Eugene’s eyes, bringing out flecks of amber in the dark brown. Eugene shakes his head, and it draws Babe out of his reverie. “I think he’ll be right to play, though.”  
  
“Good,” Babe muses. “Skinny is a crowd favourite.”  
  
Eugene fixes Babe with a look that Babe can’t decipher. “Heffron, you won highest point scorer last year,” he says. “You are a crowd favourite. Merriel and I went home last summer and had to listen to his little brother jumping off the walls with how good one of your goals were in the championship game. You best look after yourself, Quidditch fans all over North America would be none too happy if you hurt yourself before your draft year.”  
  
Babe is caught off guard by the (there’s no other word for it) passion in Eugene’s voice, and he can’t do much other than blink.

“Maybe it’s a good thing you’re tutoring me in Potions then,” Babe says, voice thick with emotion. He throws what he hopes is a smirk Eugene’s way and tries to keep his tone light and joking. He’s probably failing. “You can heal me whenever I fuck up a potion, Gene. I’m sure the NQL would love to hire you, once they heard how you kept me healthy so I could make it there. I’d look so good on your CV.”  
  
Eugene laughs, a low, warm sound that makes heat curl in Babe’s chest.  
  
“You look good, anyways,” Eugene tells him without a hint of irony in his voice.  
  
Babe’s brain stutters to a stop.  
  
Eugene is glancing sideways at Babe, eyes twinkling and a heart stopping smile on his face. It’s not quite a grin, but the way he’s smiling, loud and happy looking instead of his usual soft smile, sets every nerve in Babe’s body on fire. A strand of hair (still so long, Babe’s sure Eugene hasn’t had a haircut since before the semester started) flops into his eyes, and Babe can’t string together a coherent sentence to save his life.  
  
“I…” Babe starts, hopelessly flustered, letting out a small giggle. His tongue feels too big for his mouth and trying to form words is almost pointless. He grins at Eugene, hoping it’s enough.  
  
Eugene’s smile only widens.  
  
A comfortable silence fills the space between them as Babe and Eugene start puttering around, cleaning up the mess of the afternoon’s potion making. They move around each other, seamlessly, orbiting in and out of each other’s space as they take ingredients back to the store room and cleaning the classroom, Eugene placing a hand on Babe’s shoulder whenever he passes behind him (and Babe doing all he can to not lean into the touch). It’s familiar, all their Potions class and Eugene’s own private tutoring always end like this.  
  
Babe’s lucky he has Eugene, even if he can only call him his friend.  
  
Years ago, back in that little compartment on the Hogwarts Express, Eugene had mentioned how he (and Snafu over in Slytherin, Babe supposes, he’s not quite sure if they’re actually related) was the first of his family to leave Bayou Chene and attend Hogwarts, but since then, neither of his two younger siblings had turned up to the school. Sometimes, Babe imagines what’d it’d be like if Eugene never attended Hogwarts and he doesn’t like what his brain comes up with. Sometimes, Babe wonders why Eugene evem came to Hogwarts in the first place.  
  
“Hey Gene?” Babe calls from the other side of the room. Eugene looks up from where he’s trying to vanish some Flobberworm mucus from a table with a questioning look. “I get your grandmother is a traiteuse, but why did you hafta come to Hogwarts to study? Not that I don’t think that’s great but. Uh. Didn’t you wanna be a healer in the first place?”  
  
Eugene tilts his head, contemplating.

“‘ve’always wanted to be a healer,” Eugene says slowly, walking towards Babe. He fidgets a bit with his wand before placing it on a nearby table. “My mama, she had the Sight, y’know? She always said I wanted to be a healer just like my grandmother since I first knew what it meant. But, she said I was destined for more than being just another healer in Bayou Chene who’d only learnt Old Magic. Said I was meant to help those who needed it most, not just our small community with too many healers as is. So, I came here, to Hogwarts, to study so I could go off and work in the places I’m needed. Stay up to date, yeah?  
  
“I wasn’t going to come, at first,” Eugene continues, shrugging a bit. “Thought I’d be lonely. I was eleven, y’know? I wanted to learn from my grandmother like the rest of the kids in town. But. But Merriel, he said he’d come along so I wouldn’t be alone, and then when I got here, I met Renee and Anna. I met you.”  
  
Babe’s heart beats triple time in his chest as Eugene turns to stare directly into Babe’s eyes.  
  
“I’m glad you came,” Babe breathes, after a few moments.

He really is.  
  
“So am I, Edward,” Eugene says evenly, holding his gaze.  
  
As if on cue, Babe wrinkles his nose, completely breaking the moment.  
  
“Gene,” he whines. “Call me Babe! Edward makes me sound… old. And lame. And definitely not a professional Quidditch player.”  
  
“Oh, which you definitely are, right now,” Eugene teases. He bursts into laughter, a bright, honey like sound, goading Babe into laughing along with him. It's free, and happy, and Babe can't help but fall in love with every laugh and every gasp of breath.  
  
It takes some time, but when they finally sober up, Eugene lights up, eyes clearing like he's just remembered something important, and moves for his bag.  
  
“Hey, before I forget,” he starts. He digs around in his bag for a second, before finding what he was looking for. “Here.”  
  
He throws a rectangular package in Babe’s direction, and even though Babe is a top Quidditch goal scorer, he fumbles with package and it ends up on the floor. Eugene snorts, and shakes his in his amused little way when Babe throws a half-hearted glare at him.  
  
Picking it up from where it landed, Babe notices that it's the rectangular package, is really a gorgeous Gold wrapped bar. In delicate black text, the bar reads ‘chocolat au lait… avec une surprise!’ on one side, and ‘fabriqué en Belgique’ on the other. Babe’s French is rudimentary (really rudimentary. Most of what he knows is from his one year of elementary school French and that wasn't all too good in the first place), but even he understands that Eugene has just given him some really fancy chocolate from Belgium.  
  
“Happy Halloween,” Gene tells him. His smile turns shy; it's a good look on him. “Just thought I'd get you started on trick or treating for tomorrow.”  
  
Babe grins, touched.

“Thank you so much,” he says, voice sounding a little choked even to his ears. Babe won’t be trick or treating – that’s something he hasn’t really done since before he came to Hogwarts, but he was planning to attend a party thrown by Nixon over in Ravenclaw. Babe hopes he’ll see Eugene there.  
  
“You’re welcome,” Gene replies, slowly.  
  
He moves towards Babe, close enough that Babe can see the individual freckles on the bridge of his nose, a leftover from summer, and leans into Babe’s space. Babe fights the urge to close his eyes, and instead focuses on the feel of Gene’s hand moving to the desk behind him, almost pinning him in place.  
  
Gene’s gaze dips to Babe’s mouth before meeting his eyes and all Babe can feel is his heart stuttering in his chest, and his breath catching in his throat as he leans in, and he thinks, this is it, finally, this is-  
  
A clock chimes in the distance, signalling dinner, and the moment’s broken.  
  
The jump away from each other, Gene’s face pink.  
  
Babe remembers to breathe again.  
  
“Dinner,” Eugene says, averting his eyes. He quickly bends over to gather his belongings, blocking his face from view, but Babe can still see the back of his neck, flushed to the top of his robes. “I promised Renee that I would meet her and Anna for dinner.”  
  
Babe swallows his disappointment.  
  
“I-” Babe starts to say. He swallows again, feeling awkward in dingy lighting of the classroom. Eugene hikes his bag over his shoulder, pausing in front of Babe, snapping him out of his reverie. “Yeah. Dinner. I’ve gotta go find Bill and Spina. Uh, I’ll see you… tomorrow?”  
  
Gene nods tightly and carefully doesn’t meet Babe’s eyes.  
  
“See you tomorrow, Heffron,” he says before he he hightails it out of the classroom, leaving Babe standing alone in the abandoned classroom.

  
\--

  
  
The next morning, Babe wakes up to find that not only is he running too late for breakfast but the temperature has dropped unseasonably overnight and somebody (Julian, it’s definitely Julian) has taken his gloves and scarf.  
  
Again.  
  
Babe takes a moment to make a mental note to hide some slugs in Julian’s bed before quickly grabbing his wand and summoning his supplies for the day ahead, rugging up the best he can without his scarf, and sprinting all the way from Gryffindor Tower to the Potions Classroom, trying not to knock down a tow-headed Hufflepuff third year (Blithe, Babe recalls his name) when the staircase swings into a different direction.  
  
He somehow manages to slide into his seat besides Eugene right as the class begins, Professor Strayer only narrowing his eyes at Babe before pointing at the chalkboard at the front of the classroom. It’s only when he turns to ask Eugene about today’s potion does he recall the events from yesterday and all he can do is blush.  
  
A quick glance at Eugene shows that he’s not the only one.  
  
“I-“  
  
“Nice to see you finally made it to class,” Spina interrupts from the desk besides them, tossing Babe a thumbs up from behind Gene. There’s a dull thud besides Spina and he disappears from view for a second, making a tutting nose in Julian’s direction. “What are you looking at them for? Concentrate on cutting the damn foxglove, you’re gonna cut your fuckin’ thumb off. No, not like - give me that!”  
  
Julian’s face appears behind Eugene, who’s studiously arranging ingredients at their table, refusing to meet Babe’s glances. “Hey! We thought you were sick so we didn’t try to get you up,” Julian says eyes wide and mouth wrapping into a sheepish grin. Babe can tell he’s trying to be the picture of innocence, but Julian ruins it by throwing a truly unsubtle look Eugene’s way (Babe cringes, regretting telling Julian, Spina, Bill and Joe about his afternoon) before glancing at Babe again. “You didn’t sound too good last night.”  
  
Babe chokes, but somehow manages to not slam his head into his desk.  
  
Small mercies, he supposes.

The problem is, even after talking it over with his friends, Babe still has no idea what happened yesterday with Eugene. He thinks… he thinks Eugene had almost kissed him, but when the clock rang he looked so upset, almost like he’d come to his senses and realised what he was doing and couldn’t wait to leave. And that hurt so much, because for that split second, Babe almost believed that Eugene wanted him just as much as he wanted Eugene. Today, though, Eugene looks adamant on not talking about yesterday.

Well.

Two can play at that game.

If nothing else, Babe is a master at pushing feelings under a rug, never to be thought of again.  
  
As Julian turns around, Babe catches the telltale shimmery thread of his own mother’s hand on the underside of the red and yellow scarf.  
  
“That’s my scarf!” Babe hisses, eyes narrowing in on Julian’s red covered hands. “And those are my gloves!”  
  
“Yep,” Julian agrees, cheerfully. “Ma hasn’t sent mine out yet, and I thought you’d be in bed all day so I took yours. It’s freezing out!”  
  
Julian flips the scarf up, giving Babe a better look at where his initials are stitched on. The golden E.H glows in the softer lighting of the potions classroom, and Babe knows if he puts his hand to it, the E.H will warm to his touch and he’d be able to feel his mom’s magic, crackling, impressing dark orange and the feeling of unconditional love, in his hand. The scarf itself is also warm as fuck, and Babe, who is starting to shiver in the drafty dungeons, is ridiculously close to ripping it off Julian’s neck and smashing it around his own.

“Yeah, but now I’m freezing,” Babe whines. Julian bites his lip, which does nothing for his face but make him look like a dejected twelve year old, and goes to unwind the scarf from around his neck. “No, no, don’t!” Babe urges, hands up. He can’t let the Julian freeze, his mom would probably kill him. Bill would, too. “I’ll just use a warming charm on my hands or something. Just wear them.”  
  
Babe turns back to his table and finds that Eugene has laid out all of the potion’s ingredients in some sort of order, and is starting to chop through the foxglove. He’s definitely been listening in, though, if the reproachful side eye he’s giving Babe means anything.  
  
“Your hands are gonna fall off with a heating charm, Heffron,” he says quietly, resolutely looking at where Babe’s hands are resting on the desk, stiff with cold. “You know it doesn’t adhere to skin well, right? Gotta have some material to hold onto.”  
  
“Yeah,” Babe nods. He does, but he’s not gonna let Julian know that. He'll just find his sister at some point during the first break and ask to borrow her spares - she'd received a new pair as a congratulations for making the Quidditch team in September so she at least has another pair lying around. If anything, he's only gotta last through Potions and Transfiguration class. He shrugs. “I'll just… keep them near the cauldron fire for a while.”  
  
Gene looks absolutely aghast at the idea.  
  
“And get them burnt again?” he says. He frowns, but he meets Babe's gaze. Any lingering awkwardness is quickly being replaced by what Babe has come to know as Eugene’s Intense Medical Gaze, eyebrows drawn together, lips pursed and eyes searching. “Buck Compton would be gunning for me.” He considers for a moment before reaching for his bag and throwing something dark at Babe. Babe looks down and finds a surprisingly soft Ravenclaw scarf and some worn looking dragonhide gloves sitting in his lap.  
  
“Use these, they’re my spares,” Eugene explains. He narrows his eyes at the gloves a bit, before continuing, “put a warming charm on those gloves. I’m not sure if they’re gonna be warm enough on their own.”  
  
He turns back to the potion at hand, and resumes chopping the foxglove into strips, eyebrows pulled together in focus. Babe wastes no time in pulling the gloves over his hands and savoring the warmth of the scarf wrapped around his neck. He murmurs a warming charm at his gloves, and settles into his chair, content, breathing in the warm, spicy scent of the wool. It smells exactly like Eugene, and he can’t help but revel in it for a moment.  
  
“Hey Gene?” Babe says, when he finally remembers his manners. He reaches over and places a gloved hand over Eugene’s arm, catching his attention with a jolt. Gene looks slightly pink, but Babe can’t be sure - the lighting in the dungeons have always distorted color. “Thanks.”  
  
Eugene ducks his head, but it's not enough to hide the quirk of a smile blossoming.  
  
They work in an almost comfortable silence, potion bubbling a brilliant viridian, only breaking when Eugene has to correct Babe's stirring. Even though they started late, their potion seems to be the only one that's turned the exact shade of green the textbook outlines, but there are a few that aren't all too far.  
  
And then there’s Spina and Julian’s potion that’s almost hissing, black sparks flashing off the top of their cauldron.  
  
Babe feels impossibly warm (and smug) with pride.

“Doing well, Heffron, Roe,” Strayer says as he walks by. He seems surprised, but he isn't the only one: Babe can feel the curious stare of Spina and Julian from the next table over.  
  
Babe just grins, and nods his head towards Eugene. “I had a good tutor, sir,” he smiles. Gene smiles, face transforming into a beautiful masterpiece.  
  
“The rest of you,” Strayer says, raising his voice to address the rest of the class. A clock chimes, signalling the end of the class, but Strayer just talks straight over it. “Maybe an in depth review of the potion, one page, due next class, might help you all understand it a bit better. Dismissed.”  
  
The class packs up, some (Spina) grumbling more than others, and Babe hurries to zip up his bag so he can get to Muggle Studies on time (this time, at least). On his way out, Babe taps the table in front of Eugene, who’s taking his time to meticulously pack away his belongings.  
  
“Hey Gene,” Babe says, flashing him a grin when the Ravenclaw looks up. “Thanks. Have a good Halloween, ok? I might see you at Nixon’s party later.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, just takes off out of the classroom and into the busy hallway, hoping he doesn’t get another detention.

  
  
\--

  
  
The Halloween feast has long been Babe’s favourite non-Quidditch event at Hogwarts but this year, he’s more interested in going to the party Lewis Nixon is throwing in the Ravenclaw common room than he is for the brown sugar pumpkin pecan pie that the house elves make every year.  
  
Okay, and he might be more interested in seeing Eugene at said party than eating the pie as well.  
  
He knows what he’s about.  
  
It means he rushes through his dinner, eager to finish. It doesn’t escape any of his friends’ notices.  
  
“Babe,” Bill starts. He fixes Babe with a sideways glance that could only really be called ‘mother-like’. It definitely has shades of Ma Guarnere’s long suffering look when one of her sons behaves like an idiot. “I know the pie is good, but stop eating so fast, you’re gonna choke. And then Spina will have to stop eating and cast that goddamned… hey, Spina, what’d you call that spell?”  
  
“Anti-choking spell,” Spina replies once he swallows his handful of candy corn. “Anapneo.”  
  
“Right,” Bill says. “The Anti-Babe spell.” Spina narrows his eyes but ignores Bill in order to pick at the candy corn decorating the table. “Why’re you in a rush, anyway?”  
  
“Nixon’s party,” Julian replies through a mouthful of potato. He’s also chugging through his meal, just as excited as Babe is. “Can’t wait til we’re able to put on our fuckin’ costumes and get lit.”  
  
Different strokes, Babe guesses.  
  
Bill and Fran share an exasperated look.  
  
“I hope this isn’t what our children are gonna be like,” Fran says lightly. Babe chokes on his pumpkin pie and throws a glare at her. She rolls her eyes as Julian thumps him on the back. “Merlin, slow down, Babe.”  
  
“Our children will be better behaved,” Bill teases, but he’s smiling brightly, like he does with any mention of his future offspring with Fran. “I don’t even know what you’re this eager for, Babe, you went last year as well.”  
  
The thing is Babe is really excited for Nixon’s party. He’s dressing up as a chaser from the Philly Phoenixes (to absolutely no one’s surprise), Nixon is throwing it so there’s bound to be fancy food and good quality imported firewhiskey, and he’s made up his mind.  
  
Tonight, he’s gonna ask Eugene out.  
  
Yesterday had been strange, what with Eugene running off after almost kissing Babe, but today, today, Babe’s been so warm, wrapped in Eugene’s scarf, dipped in that delicious, spicy scent. Eugene’s been giving Babe these looks every time they’ve passed in the hallways and staircases today, and it’s making Babe feel brave.  
  
He just really hopes he’s not reading the signs wrong.  
  
“Roe’s also gonna be there,” Julian points out through a mouthful of pie, to the disgust of the sixth year girls sitting beside him.  
  
Everyone else just rolls their eyes, but chose not to comment, thankfully.  
  
The feast finishes quickly and, soon enough, Babe along with Bill, Fran, Julian, Joe and Spina find themselves standing in front of a propped open Ravenclaw common room door, watching as students in costumes spill out into the corridor and down the staircase, some already drunk and laughing loudly.  
  
“This is gonna get shut down by Headmaster Sink in a heartbeat,” Joe says. “Well, I’m gonna go find Luz and get drunk before we get kick out. See ya later.”  
  
He disappears into the common room, waving jauntily over his shoulder. Spina and Julian both shrug before following suit.  
  
When Babe finally enters the Ravenclaw common room, he’s so busy noticing the high ceilings, the large windows and the sheer amount of people (let alone the sheer amount of books in the floor to ceiling book cases lining the walls. Way to commit to a stereotype, Ravenclaw) that he’s not really watching what his feet are doing until he’s kissing the floor.  
  
Babe squints down at the hardwood floors and finds the main offender: a stack of heavy books.  
  
Of course.  
  
Fuckin’ Ravenclaws.  
  
“Tell me, Heffron, how are you able to stand on top of your broom and score goals, but I somehow always find you trippin’ over things?” an amused voice from above says.  
  
Babe’s head snaps up.  
  
It’s Eugene, because of course it is, standing over Babe glowing in his white robe.  
  
He looks like an angel.  
  
Babe squints a little harder. On second thoughts, he looks like a muggle healer.  
  
“Hi to you too, Eugene,” Babe sighs, with a small wave. Eugene lets out a chuckle and offers a hand that Babe takes immediately, marvelling at the show of strength as he’s hauled to his feet. “Muggle healer tonight?”  
  
“They’re called doctors,” Eugene replies. He’s smiling that amused smile and Babe can’t help but get distracted by how pink Eugene’s lips are, and how much he’s glowing in the bright lights of the Ravenclaw common room. He finally clues in that Eugene’s still talking when notices a wry smile.  
  
“What?” Babe asks. He flushes, remembering his manners. “Uh, I mean, sorry?”  
  
Eugene leans forward and grabs the front of Babe’s costume between two fingers. “I was just saying that the colours suit you.”  
  
It’s a bold face lie, because Babe’s wearing orange and, with his ginger hair, he knows that the Phoenixes costume does nothing for his complexion, and kind of makes him look like he’s on fire. Still, Babe can’t help but blush to the tips of his ears.  
  
They’re standing close, close enough that Babe can feel the warmth radiating from the boy beside him. Eugene smiles, a little shy and a lot soft, and Babe just stands there smiling back, like an idiot, because he can’t believe there’s this beautiful boy smiling at him like that. Time starts to feel like it’s dragging and suddenly Babe can’t hear the bouncing of the loud party around him, just Eugene’s steady exhale over his cheek.  
  
Besides them someone sets off a muggle party popper.  
  
Eugene’s hand is still clutching Babe’s top.  
  
“Oh,” Eugene mumbles. He releases his grip and takes a full step back, face closing off. He looks around shiftily, like he’s trying to find a way out.  
  
Babe can take a hint.  
  
“I’m, uh, gonna get a drink,” Babe rasps, and hightails it out of there.  
  
Babe finds refuge with Bull Randleman, who’s deep in conversation with Johnny Martin and Buck Compton. The seventh year Gryffindors just give him an amused stare and continue to talk about the shape of Quidditch in California (which is, admittedly, bad this year), Buck continually defending his home state as Johnny badmouths it. Babe adds in his two cents and they stand there, sipping butterbeers, shit talking California Quidditch. It’s easy.  
  
Until Bull levels a heavy glance at Babe.  
  
“That little Ravenclaw of yours keeps staring over here at you,” Bull drawls in that heavy accent of his. Babe flushes and ducks his head, but not before he catches Buck rolling his at him. “I think he wants to talk to you. Go on now, put him out of his misery. Don’t leave a smart boy like that hanging, Babe.”  
  
“I don’t think it’s really like that,” Babe protests, thinking about the way Eugene jumped away from Babe the night before. When he looks across the room, he can see Eugene deep in conversation with Renee and Anna and Snafu and not at all staring at Babe.  
  
Johnny Martin gives Babe what is quite possibly the bitchiest bitch face he’s ever seen in his life.  
  
“You best listen to Bull now, Babe,” he snarks. Babe doesn’t think Johnny knows how to talk in any other tone of voice. “Might sound like a hick, but he was a hatstall; Hat couldn’t figure out whether to put him in Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. Now fuck off, this is putting me off my pumpkin spice butterbeer.”  
  
Babe complies. Sort of.  
  
He wanders around the party, adamant on giving Eugene some space. He obviously wasn’t into whatever was going on between them before and Babe’s mom raised him right. He’s not gonna force his unwanted feelings onto someone who obviously doesn’t want anything to do with them. No matter how much he likes them.  
  
Babe drifts between groups for a while, shooting the shit with random students and playing gobstones with some Hufflepuffs in front of the massive windows. He loses a few Dragots to Penkala, one of Hufflepuffs’ chasers, but he’s having a good time, there’s a warm, fizzy buzz in his head, there’s candy everywhere (an assortment of muggle candy mixed in with the wizarding candy, to Babe’s delight), everyone’s dressed up and there’s butterbeer and firewhiskey in every corner. Which, ok, may or may not be contributing to his high frequency toilet trips.  
  
He’s rounding the corner from the Ravenclaw toilets for the fifth time, trying to find his way back to the party but there’s so many perpendicular hallways and Babe’s starting to think you gotta be smart just to find your way around the tower. He’s almost lost when he sees Eugene standing in a hallway with Renee, seemingly in a heated conversation. Babe ducks around the corner, but glances back and listens in, curious.  
  
From what Babe has gathered in the last five years, Renee and Eugene have been close friends for years, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen them like they are right now.  
  
Renee is looking up at Eugene, frown on her pretty face, eyebrows pulling down into a scowl.  
  
Sometimes, Babe sees her clear skin, and her silky blond hair, and her fine bone structure, and can’t help but wonder if she’s part Veela. It would explain how she’s so beautiful, how calming her presence is. She’s dressed as an angel, halo hovering above her head and all, and it’s possibly the realest costume in the entire castle. Renee Lemaire is definitely angel material.  
  
Eugene is murmuring something, obviously in French because Babe can’t pick out any of the words, but it makes Renee’s face transform into one of pity. She places a delicate hand on his cheek.  
  
“Eugene,” she says, accent blooming out over the name. She’s been in America since her first year, the same year as Bill, so her accent is usually undetectable, but there’s something about the way she says Eugene’s name that makes her sound like a Belgium national. Her voice carries down the deserted hallway so Babe doesn’t exactly have to strain to hear what she says next. “Eugene, je t’aime, tu le sais, mais tu es complètement débile.”  
  
Babe runs a quick translation through his head because he thinks he’s heard wrong, his French is shitty at best and the back end of her sentence doesn’t make sense at all to him, especially with the butterbeer sloshing around his body, but oh.  
  
Eugene, je t’aime.  
  
Eugene, I love you.  
  
God, Babe is such an idiot.  
  
His stomach drops, and the warm and fizzy, happy buzz in his head dissipates leaving behind an empty, stone cold soberness. He wants to leave, go back to Gryffindor and go back to the privacy of his own four poster bed, away from the thumping party. He stumbles through the party, finds Bill, who’s chatting away with Fran and Buck, butterbeer held firmly in his hand, and tugs his shoulder.  
  
“I’m gonna head back to Gryffindor,” Babe hears himself say.  
  
Bill takes one look at Babe, hands Fran his bottle, excusing them both and drags Babe towards the exit. Babe’s got his arms around himself, mostly because it’s cold in the castle, but also because he feels… brittle, in a way he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before. Bill notices but doesn’t say anything, just wraps an arm around his shoulder as they navigate their way back to Gryffindor Tower.  
  
“You doing okay, buddy?” Bill asks softly, once they reach the portrait hole. He whispers the password, and the door swings wide open so they can amble in. The common room is deserted, but Bill still pushes Babe up the stairs to the boy’s dormitory. “What happened?”  
  
“I think… I think Eugene and Renee are dating,” Babe says, sitting on the edge of his bed.  
  
Bill drops down besides Babe with a loud thump. “Are you sure?” he asks. He looks uncertain, and a little bit shocked.  
  
Babe knows how he feels.  
  
“They’re always together,” Babe points out. “The last Salem weekend? They were all pressed together and cozy in that booth at the Three Broomstick, and they’re always touching and together and, and, the chocolate he gave me yesterday. It’s Belgian chocolate, Bill. It’s from Belgium! Renee is from Belgium. Merlin, he gave me something he must’ve gotten from his girlfriend, fuck!”  
  
He’s piling together evidence in his head, running through all the times he’s seen Eugene and Renee, heads together at the Ravenclaw table. All he can think about is how, no, Eugene doesn’t want him back, he’s dating Renee, the most perfect girl in the world, and Babe’s never had a chance.  
  
“Babe,” Bill says, slowly. All of his usual bluster is gone, replaced by a gentle quiet, almost like he’s scared of spooking Babe. “You and I are always together and touching. Are you sure?”  
  
“I heard her say she loves him,” Babe replies.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Bill wraps an arm around Babe, and pulls him close into a hug. They sit there for a while in silence, Babe pressed into Bills shoulder, Bill patting his hair. If Babe cries a little, neither of them acknowledge it.  
  
“I just really liked him, y’know?” Babe says, voice cracking through. Bill goes still. “I really, really liked him. What am I gonna do, Bill? I thought I had something with him, maybe. Renee’s great, she’s perfect, but… I don’t know if I can be partners with him in Potions, or just… I don’t know.”  
  
Bill’s silent for a moment, but then Babe hears him, clear as day, “I think you need some distance, Babe.”  
  
They stay like that, wrapped around each other, until Spina, Julian, and surprisingly, Joe, stumble into the dorm room, take one look at them and join them on the bed, all of them cuddling like they did when they were kids, before falling asleep.  
  
Right.  
  
Distance.  
  
Babe can do that.

  
\--

  
  
The next morning, Babe hands back Eugene’s scarf and gloves.  
  
They’re standing in the Entrance Hall, students rushing around them, and Babe’s standing there, like an idiot, holding out a warm blue and bronze scarf, like he can’t bear to look at it anymore. Eugene looks surprised, but he smiles, in the soft way that makes him look like the sun, glowing from within, but all it does is make something sit heavy in Babe’s stomach. It’s disappointment, he knows, and it makes him feel awful.  
  
“Thanks Eugene,” Babe mumbles, because above all his Ma raised him to be polite. He doesn’t, can’t, meet Eugene’s eyes. Not when he’s trying to fight down disappointment, not when he’s trying to do what Bill said to do. Distance. Right. He can do that.  
  
“No problem, Heffron,” Eugene says.  
  
Heffron. God, Babe is such an idiot. Of course Eugene didn’t like him like he thought he did.  
  
“Yeah,” Babe starts. He takes a big breath, gearing himself up. “So, I was thinking, I think I’ve got a hang of potions now, thanks to you, of course, so I think maybe we don’t need any study dates anymore?”  
  
He takes a peek at Eugene’s face just in time to see it go blank, but his hand twitches over the scarf in his hands, like he’s shocked. Babe knows how he feels; last night was definitely a shock to him.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Yeah, so,” Babe continues. He sounds awkward, even to his own ears, and he barely holds back a wince. He idly runs his hands over the initials on his own scarf, feeling his mom’s love and magic settle over him but it doesn’t calm him like it usually does. Damnit. “Anyway, thanks, Eugene. I’ll see you around.”  
  
Babe walks away from Eugene, heart clenching painfully in his chest.

  
  
\--

  
November eventually bleeds into December.  
  
Babe falls more and more in love with Eugene.  
  
He thinks it might be the stupidest thing he’s ever done.

  
  
\--

  
  
The first of December brings a fresh fall of snow, holiday decorations, and the return of the Matchmaker Mistletoe.  
  
Two years ago, someone (Babe always had an inkling that it was either Ray Person or Nixon) had charmed a sprig of mistletoe to appear and disappear at random intervals around the castle, trapping students (never any students below fifth year, for some reason) in their tracks, releasing the pair only after they kissed. Weirdly enough, almost everyone trapped under this particular mistletoe ended up dating afterwards, leading girls (and Julian) all over the castle to dub it the ‘Matchmaker Mistletoe’.  
  
Whoever had charmed it in the first place, though, messed up and forgotten to charm it to finish at the end of that Christmas, causing it to continue to pop up throughout the school term.  
  
It hasn’t surfaced through the entire school term but the moment Dick Winters and Nixon walk through the Great Hall doors and find themselves stuck, the whole school (teachers and staff alike) notice the mistletoe hanging low over the pair and the Hall goes quiet.  
  
Dick pauses, clearly startled by the overwhelming sound of silence. Besides him, Nixon glances up and lets out a small choked noise, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Dick notices, and rolls his eyes after a quick look upwards.  
  
“I thought the magic had finally worn off this year,” he says to Nixon with his usual wry smile, like he’s not even aware of the couple of thousand students staring at them.  
  
Nixon, on the other hand, looks very much aware and very much terrified.  
  
“It’s okay, Dick. I can just kiss you on the cheek. That’s no big deal, right? We’ve done that before,” his voice sounds tight, desperate. It’s a great departure from the confident, swaggering rich boy persona that Babe associates with Nixon. “You don’t have to kiss me, I know you don’t want to.”  
  
Dick stares at Nixon incredulously.  
  
Nixon stares at his feet.  
  
“Lew,” he starts. He sounds impossibly fond and patient, like he's trying to coax an irate hippogriff. Nixon doesn't lift his gaze, though, and it makes Dick sigh and grab his hand. “I went over the spellwork for this mistletoe. I was there when you and Harry cast it. I know it only appears when you both have feelings for each other. And I’ve been in love with you for years, so kiss me, you idiot.”

Nixon’s head shoots up and the next moment, they’re pressed together, in the entrance of the Great Hall in front of everyone, kissing like that’s all they were made to do. Dick’s got his hand tangled in Nixon’s hair, and Nixon’s clutching him around his waist, and there’s a ripple of conversation running through the Hall. There’s also a loud rustling over at the Ravenclaw table, and when Babe looks over, he sees a mass movement of money towards Ray Person, who only grins as he counts the Dragots piling around him, slapping away Brad Colbert’s hands whenever they get too close.

“Nixon,” Headmaster Sink’s voice booms over the Great Hall from the teachers’ table, and Dick pulls away from Nixon, reluctantly. “Great spellwork, really. Very advanced stuff. Detention though. You too, Welsh.”

Welsh, over at the Hufflepuff table just shrugs, as if to say fair. Nixon, though, doesn’t reply, he’s too busy gazing into Dick’s eyes, smiling softly like he can’t believe how lucky he is. Like he can’t believe he got the chance to finally, finally, hold Winters like that.

Babe has to look away. It’s exactly everything he’s wanted. But, unlike Lewis Nixon, who gets to gaze at Dick with the most reverent look on his face, and Dick who’s gazing back with the softest, fondest, most in love look Babe has ever seen in his life, Babe’s feelings aren’t requited; he doesn’t get to have this. Eugene doesn’t love him back.

The Matchmaker Mistletoe disappears.

It’s not the last time Babe sees it this school year.

 

\--

 

The last Potion’s class before Winter Break is a tense one.

Babe’s been awkward around Eugene since Halloween; he has no idea how to really bury his feelings, no idea how to not look at Eugene like the universe revolves around him, or how to not open his big mouth and say how much Babe likes him. He’s not a complete asshole, though. He knows not put Eugene in a position where he’ll have to shoot him down. He knows not to hit on a dude who’s dating someone.

Gone are the days of carefree chatter (and yes, flirting, Babe can definitely say he’s been flirting with Eugene) that got them through the potion brewing process. It’s replaced with awkwardness that leads to tense and uncomfortable silences, and really confused and almost disappointed looks from Eugene.

It’s also led to a massive drop in the quality of their potions.

Which definitely hasn’t gone undetected by Professor Strayer.

Strayer dismisses the class, after an almost disappointed look at their cauldron (which holds a disaster similar from the start of the year), and the Babe and Eugene pack quickly, in a tense silence. Spina’s been sending him enquiring looks all class that ask ‘are you alright’. Babe’s not really sure, to be honest.

Outside the classroom, it’s absolute chaos. There’s a bunch of students milling about trying to avoid the castle’s usual set of mistletoe, a large group of third years have arrived, snow melting off their boots into puddles in the hallway, and the fifth years just finishing their class are trying to squeeze out through the classroom door just to get to their next class. Babe is stuck in line, waiting to leave the classroom. Next to him, Eugene shuffles his feet, antsy.

“Hey Eugene?” Babe mumbles, eyes glued in front of him. “Have a good break.”

He looks up just in time to catch Eugene watching him for a moment, eyes searching. What for, Babe’s not really sure, but Eugene’s gaze is so intense, so thorough, that Babe has to look away; he can’t let Eugene know that Babe’s basically in love with him. Eugene must not have found what he was looking for because he sighs, a world-weary, exhausted sound before he replies.

“Yeah, you too, Heffron.”

Babe fights the disappointment bubbling low in his gut and just nods as he slowly, sadly, makes his way into the busy hallway. Babe’s passing through the gaggle of third years when a pale hand shoots out, plants itself around his bicep and pulls.

Babe almost falls, but he rights himself in time to see his sister staring up at him, judgement bright in her eyes. Maggie narrows her eyes at him, and Babe almost doesn’t realise his little sister standing there, because she reminds him so much of their ma. It doesn’t help when it turns out she’s only grabbed him so she can lecture him.

“You dumbass,” she berates, when she’s shoved him far enough from her friends. Babe goes to protest, but she cuts over top of him. “Don’t think I haven’t been listening to you guys at Quidditch practice when you think I can’t hear you, I know you’re doing shit in Potions, again. And you’ve been moping so much. And all because of a stupid boy?”

Babe winces, because he knows it’s true. He hasn’t been doing well in Potions, some because he’s sort of been ignoring Eugene, but also because studying just reminds him of Eugene. It’s been hard to concentrate on it at all, but at least he’s been throwing himself into their Quidditch practice. But he knows that he’d definitely have a strong talking to his sister if she also let her grades slip because she was upset about some boy not liking her back. So instead of interrupting her, he just lets her go on until she’s run out of steam.

Out of all their siblings, Maggie somehow ended up with the temper. While it takes her a while to get started, there’s no telling how long she’ll burn for, or how loudly. Or violently.

“It is your OWL year,” she continues hissing. “You’re concentrating way too much on Eugene Roe, and definitely not enough on your studies,” she adds on after a moment of consideration. “All you’re doing is mopping and turning up to Quidditch practice. Ok, so, maybe he has a girlfriend. Don’t be a homewrecker, Babe. Let it go. You’re not completely ugly looking, I’m sure there’s someone else for you out there. Unfuck yourself.”

She sucks in a breath, and all Babe can manage to do is let out a choked, “You’re thirteen, please stop.”

The face she makes tells Babe loud and clear that she thinks he’s an idiot.

“You’re an idiot,” she says. “And I love you, Babe. But if you think I’m gonna let you screw up your future over a dumb boy who can’t see that you’re perfect for him, you’re a moron. And I’ll tell mom. Just think about it, alright.”

She punches him in the shoulder (which, ow) and flounces down the hall, slipping into her Potion’s classroom just as the bell goes, letting Babe know that he is, in fact, late for Muggle Studies. Again.

Babe makes a mental note to avoid sitting anywhere near his sister at the dinner table when the go home to Philadelphia for Christmas Break tomorrow.

 

\--

 

January brings with it a new school semester and the return of Quidditch.  
  
Babe comes back from Winter Break, frozen to the core (seriously, Philadelphia doesn’t fuck around with winter) but one hundred percent ready to return to the pitch and win another house cup for Gryffindor. The first game back is against Hufflepuff, a team that’s historically given them trouble. Like Gryffindor, Hufflepuff had to find a new keeper after their last one, Rudy Reyes, graduated last year. In his place is Shifty Powers, one of Babe’s friends, who has some of the sharpest eyes Babe has ever seen.  
  
The game is a low scoring struggle from start to finish, both teams unable to score on either keeper who just bat the Quaffle away from the hoops like it’s just an annoying fly buzzing around their faces.  
  
Babe would be so proud of his sister if he wasn’t so frustrated by his inability to score.  
  
An hour into the game, the score for both teams is still zero and Babe’s getting sick of the harsh wind and the occasional cut of rain freezing him to his core. Buck’s already called for a timeout so the entire team could douse themselves in warming charms, but Babe can still feel the wind brushing against his cheeks. The crowd all seems tiny from where they’re all huddled together and Penkala from Hufflepuff is even flying around complaining about the cold when he’s not dodging a well place Bludger smashed his way.  
  
Fran (thank Merlin for that girl’s speed, Babe’s nose is starting to go numb) finally seizes the snitch around the fifth hour mark and the game ends, 160 - 10, and Gryffindor bags the two points.  
  
Babe glances down into the stands as he hovers high up from where the Gryffindor team is doing their victory lap and notices Eugene, pressed in close with Renee and Anna, clutching a Gryffindor flag tightly, smile big on his face. Babe’s heart jumps into his throat and he forgets that he shouldn’t be excited by that, he forgets that he shouldn’t feel giddy at seeing Eugene supporting him (okay, the team), forgets that he shouldn’t feel something blooming gold deep in his gut because it really is never going to happen.  
  
He still does, though, like an idiot.

 

\--

 

The rest of winter finally sputters to an end and Babe slowly gets back into the rhythm of a Quidditch game every weekend, studying for all of his classes (plus the endless extra study sessions for the OWLs in May), and receiving endless owls from his mom, praising his games and relaying scout information and telling him to watch his shoulder passes.  
  
If nothing else, his mom is definitely a Quidditch mom.  
  
(Babe can remember growing up, his mom teaching him how to fly and throw a Quaffle. Out of everyone in his family, out of everyone out of Magical Philadelphia, Babe’s mom was the one to really encourage him to pursue his dream of playing Quidditch professionally.  
  
Babe’s got a lot to thank his mom for.)  
  
He’s even starting to talk to Eugene again. Not like before, everything is still a little awkward and there are long stretches of silence with Eugene staring down at their desk that are hardly comfortable, but there’s more conversation than just stilted instructions in the middle of Potions class. Babe’s trying his best to get over his feelings. Or, at least, bury them deep down where he can’t reach them.  
  
It’s… not as successful as he’d like.  
  
But, he’s gotten used to the balance of his life. He has his friends, he has Quidditch back, he’s getting scouted for professional play for when he graduates, his team is on top of the ladder (and probably going to play in the Cup Final) and he’s starting to do much better in all his classes (including Potions, surprisingly).  
  
Who is he to complain?

  
  
\--

 

It’s just after midnight when Babe looks up at the clock in the Gryffindor common room and realises that he’s been so wrapped up in writing his Transfiguration essay that he forgot to go down to dinner.  
  
He’s hungry.

And the Great Hall has been shut for the last few hours.  
  
Which means it’s high time Babe paid a visit to the house elves down in the kitchens.  
  
Spina doesn’t look up from his Charms textbook when Babe stands, and only waves him off when Babe offers to bring him food. Julian doesn’t stir from where he’s collapsed over their table, just continues to snore softly into his own Transfiguration essay when Babe drapes a red throw over him.  
  
He’s probably smudging ink all over his face, which’ll be hilarious in the morning.  
  
So Babe makes his way through the castle alone, careful of getting caught by the patrolling prefects and teachers and security wizards wandering through the hallways, and almost collapses in relief when he finally reaches the kitchen undetected and the house elves greet him, gleefully plying him with leftovers from the meal he missed. He thanks them as they leave him alone while he stuffs his face.  
  
It’s not his Ma’s cooking, but there’s something about the apple pie made by the Hogwarts house elves that just hits the spot.  
  
He’s enjoying his meal when the portrait hole slides open and two voices carry through, two boys bickering at each other, by the sounds of it.  
  
“Just move, Sledge. We don’t have all goddamn night, and I’m not gettin’ another detention just because your ass takes too fuckin long to get through a damn portrait hole. Fuck, I’m hungry,” a disgruntled voice grunts.  
  
A redheaded boy that Babe vaguely recognises as a fourth year from Slytherin slides through, exasperation clear on his face. Babe can’t remember his name, but he does recall an older boy from Ravenclaw named Sledge playing on their Quidditch team in his first few years at Hogwarts. Babe thinks they’re probably related.  
  
“Shut up, Snafu,” he snaps, taking no mind of Babe. “You wouldn’t be getting food if it weren’t for me.”  
  
Snafu appears, mouth pulled into a frown, shoeless.  
  
“I’m dyin’, Sledge, just hurry up,” he grouses. Snafu pauses when he notices Babe perched at a counter, eyes narrowing. He juts out his chin in the direction of the house elves. “Now, go make nice,” he drawls to Sledge before sliding into a seat beside Babe.  
  
Sledge must be used to Snafu’s idiosyncrasies because he just shrugs and makes his way over to a gaggle of house elves.

Babe can feel Snafu staring at him intensely, but he wills himself to concentrate on the piece of pie in front of him instead. It’s only effective in that Snafu curses under his breath, and ends up being the first one to talk.  
  
“I hear you’ve been talking to Eugene again,” Snafu drawls.  
  
“I always talk to Eugene,” Babe snaps, placing his fork down on his plate and turns to face Snafu. “We sit together in Potions, of course I talk to him.”  
  
“Hmmm,” Snafu replies.  
  
Snafu stares a little bit more, eyes unblinking. He looks tired, Babe thinks, face looking a little sunken. All the fifth and seventh years look just as exhausted and unhealthy as the OWLs and NEWTs get closer, stress clearly getting to everyone. Snafu, in particular, somehow looks more unsettling than usual.  
  
“How would you even know anyway?” Babe asks.  
  
Snafu raises an eyebrow, and continues to look unimpressed.  
  
“You think I don’t talk to Eugene every day?” Snafu says, incredulous. “He tells me everything. We’re family.”  
  
As if Babe could ever forget; Eugene basically only talks to Renee, Anna and Snafu most days.  
  
All of a sudden, Babe isn’t hungry anymore.  
  
“I’m gonna go,” Babe says, pushing his chair back. The legs squeal, kitchen falling into complete silence, and Sledge looks up from the corner where he’s kneeling near some house elves. It’s too quiet. Babe feels like he’s suffocating, his heart beating triple time in his chest. He glances down at where Snafu is staring at him and mutters a quick, “You can eat the rest of my pie,” before making his way back to Gryffindor, back to safety.  
  
Babe’s halfway through the portrait hole when he hears Snafu calling after him.  
  
“Don’t be a fucking coward, Heffron!”

Babe wills himself to bite his tongue.

He’s got more important shit (the House Cup, OWLs, his Quidditch career, his goddamned Transfiguration essay) to worry about right now than Snafu Shelton.

  
  
\--

  
  
Hogwarts ramps up for the Quidditch finals the same way some people gear up for their own weddings.  
  
That is, to say, obsessively.  
  
In the end, it’s Slytherin and Gryffindor playing for the Quidditch Cup in the middle of April, and the entire castle is decked out in either silver and green, or scarlet and gold to show their support. It’s an old age rivalry, pitting friend against friend in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, and teacher against teacher. Babe revels in the craziness of it all. Even in the build-up to exams (due to start next month), Hogwarts students are still taking the time to go crazy for a sporting event. It’s incredible and Babe honestly can’t believe how lucky he is.  
  
Babe’s been fielding good luck messages from classmates and his mom, and, less helpfully, ‘advice’ from randoms, in his morning mail brought in by the school owls, on the streets during Salem weekends, and, surprisingly, in articles in the back of the Daily Mail, for the last few weeks.  
  
(Eugene had even wished him luck at the end of Friday’s potion class.  
  
“Good luck, Heffron,” Eugene had said. He’d smiled softly, brightly, at Babe, who had to remind his heart to chill the fuck out at the sight.)  
  
The night before the final, Buck calls a Team Meeting in his dorm room, kicking Bull, Johnny Martin, Lipton and Dick out for the time being. Dick only looks the other way when he sees Fran and Maggie making their way up stairs to the boys’ dorms, which Buck flashes a grateful smile for.  
  
“I’d like everyone to know right now that this is quite possibly the grossest dorm room I’ve ever seen, including Bill and Joe’s, and that I really, really, expected better of Dick Winters. NEWTs cannot be this bad,” Fran announces, kicking at a stray pile of socks and underwear on the floor. Maggie looks just as disgusted and makes a sound of agreement as she tries to find a safe place to sit.  
  
Julian on the other hand, takes the time to rifle through the papers that Buck handed out.  
  
“Buck, is this an actual game plan?” he says, reading quickly. “There’s just four papers here with the word ‘WIN’ on them.”  
  
“Really?” Babe asks, before shuffling through the papers. “Huh. That’s a waste of paper. I hope you used gemino instead of the parchment from the library.”  
  
Buck throws them all an entirely unimpressed look.  
  
“I’m trying to give a good captain’s speech here, you ingates,” he snarks, eyes narrowing. They rest of them roll their eyes, but stay silent enough for him to continue. “Anyway, it’s been a pleasure playing with all of you this year. You’ve been a good team even though you’ve all been absolute shits. I know we can win tomorrow, so I want you to have a good dinner and a good night’s sleep and get out there on the pitch ready to fight.”  
  
“I feel like he shouldn’t really be telling us to fight,” Fran says in an undertone.

“Shut up, Frances. You’re the worst of the lot.”

“Bite me, Lynn.”

“Aww, Buck, we know you love us,” Bill says, shit eating grin plastered firmly on his face. “Just remember us when you’re on the bottom of the ladder with LA next year, okay?”

“They’re totally fucked this year,” Joe agrees. “At least your hometown are shit enough that they’ll be able to draft you.”  
  
“Shut up all of you. Just concentrate on getting the rookie the win she deserves,” Buck says, nodding at Maggie who looks nervous.  
  
Babe knows exactly how she feels.  
  
The next morning, the entire castle turns up to the Quidditch stadium, parents and scouts and members of the public alongside them, eager for a battle.  
  
It’s not quite the close game that everyone had hope for: after an hour on the pitch, Gryffindor are up 60-20, and Babe, Julian and Buck are trying their hardest to score just enough for a clear buffer should Slytherin catch the snitch.

It’s a good game though, the sky is clear and sunny, there’s minimal wind and the roar of the crowd can be heard over Ray Person’s chattery commentation. The Slytherin Beaters keep bashing the Bludgers as hard as they can at Babe, Julian and Buck, but Gryffindor keeps on making plays.  
  
Babe finally pots one in cleanly, just by Bill Leyden’s ear, just seconds before the whistle blows, and he looks up hoping not to see Liebgott with the snitch, but he catches sight of Fran, triumphantly holding the snitch clear above her head, screaming in delight, and the crowd is roaring and Buck is yelling and –  
  
And Gryffindor wins the cup.

  
  
\--

  
  
Babe honestly doesn’t remember how he ended up holding a bottle of firewhiskey (‘New!! And Improved!!! 1942!!! the label reads, so it must be one of Nixon’s), but he figures that’s probably the exhaustion speaking.  
  
He stumbles a little around a throng of students, all packed into the Gryffindor common room to celebrate the cup win. Everyone calls out a cheery ‘Congratulations!’, even the rare Slytherins milling about the room, although Babe really can’t really pick out names with his brain so fuzzy.  
  
Okay, so maybe it’s the firewhiskey and not the exhaustion.  
  
He’s not the only one though, the entire team (save Maggie, who’d only called him a hypocrite when Babe had told her she was too young to drink) were stumbling around in a state similar to Babe. Bill and Fran, wrapped around each other tightly like they’re attached at the face, and Joe, sitting in a corner, a jubilant Luz in his lap, don’t look too much better.

It’s not just the team, either. David Webster is standing in a corner, looking very drunk and sad towards Joseph Liebgott, who’s sitting with the small group of Slytherins commiserating. Snafu has a sweaty arm dropped over the top of the boy from the kitchen, the fourth year Slytherin’s (Babe thinks his first name is Eugene, and isn’t that funny?) shoulders and overall, everyone is very drunk and loud and ecstatic.  
  
Babe can’t quite get his footing right, and stumbles over an errant piece of rug, toppling the lap of someone seated in the plush armchair in front of the fireplace.  
  
It’s a nice lap.  
  
The thighs feel corded with muscle and Babe can’t help but poke at them a bit. They’re very nice thighs.  
  
“Thank you, Edward,” Eugene’s amused sounding voice says from somewhere above Babe. Babe looks up wide-eyed, because there’s no way Eugene heard what Babe was saying in his head, right, because that would make him a mind reader, and Babe thinks a lot about Eugene, but Eugene doesn’t really need to know that. “I’m no mind reader. You’re just talking out loud, Edward.”  
  
Babe blinks.  
  
Shit.  
  
Did he really say all of that out loud?  
  
“You’re still talking out loud, Edward,” Eugene says with a soft smile. It’s the first time Eugene’s smiled like that at Babe since Halloween, but Babe tries not to let that distract him.  
  
“Hey, Gene, it’s Babe,” Babe whines, sitting up in Eugene’s lap. “Baabe. Come on, it’s one whole syllab-syllabile?- syllable less. Baaaaaaa-be. Wait, is that one or two syllables? I don’t know. This firewhiskey is really strong? Syll-ab-a-ab-les?”  
  
He can feel himself frowning as he tests the words out in his mouth, but Eugene just smiles on, like he’s watching something funny.  
  
“Alright, Mr. Firewhiskey,” Eugene says. “How ‘bout we get you some water, hey? Maybe some fresh air too?”  
  
Eugene has the best ideas.  
  
“That’s the best idea, Eugene,” Babe grins. And… doesn’t move. He just sits there, because Eugene’s eyes suddenly got really sparkly, and Babe just can’t understand how they’re so pretty. “Your eyes are really pretty, did you know that?”  
  
Eugene rolls his eyes, but from the way he’s smiling back, Babe can tell he doesn’t really mean it.  
  
“Alright, nice and easy now,” Eugene says before he hauls Babe to his feet and leads him through the common room out onto a balcony. He summons a cup and mutters a quick, “augmenti,” before passing it to Babe. “There you go.”  
  
“Thanks, Eugene,” Babe smiles before going to town on the cup. It’s a beautiful night, a little chilly, but the moon is full, and the stars are out, casting little shadows over the school grounds and the noise of the party has yet to spill out into the open. If Babe squints he can see the distant lights of Salem.  
  
“Nice goals today,” Eugene murmurs, and Babe jumps because wow he didn’t think Eugene was that close. “Congrats on the scoring title.”  
  
Babe laughs, because he doesn’t really know what else to do.  
  
“Fran did all the work,” Babe shrugs, gazing out into the night. The lights of Salem look like they’re twinkling a little bit, like they’re celebrating just like Babe is. He realises he’s been silent for a few minutes, distracted, and starts to finish his sentence. “She deserves the season MVP.”  
  
“No, I think you’d have my vote.”  
  
Babe’s head swivels around, and he can feel his mouth stretching into a full blown grin. “Yeah?” he asks.  
  
Eugene nods.

“Yeah,” he whispers. He swallows, loudly, and Babe watches as Eugene’s Adam’s apple bobs, fixated on the exposed column of his throat.

Babe finds himself moving into Eugene’s space, just as Eugene moves into his, like they can’t help themselves. He’s close enough that Babe can see the soft way Eugene’s dark eyelashes kiss the tops of his cheeks, can see the small indents in Eugene’s been biting his lips. Eugene stops, just short of Babe, like he’s waiting for Babe, and Babe… Babe doesn’t let him wait long.  
  
He moves into Eugene’s space just enough so that their lips brush, but Eugene makes a small pleased noise, so Babe presses closer, eyes closed, and kisses him deeper, and he can vaguely feel Eugene’s hand snaking up into his hair, and he can feel himself pressing his hands around Eugene’s waist, bringing him closer and –  
  
And it’s everything Babe’s ever wanted, and it feels like magic.  
  
All too soon, though, Eugene pulls away.  
  
“Edward, we can’t do this,” he says. His face is screwed up into a semblance of…. Regret? Babe thinks it is. It’s like glass of cold water has been poured over him.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Of course Eugene wouldn’t really want him.  
  
“You’re drunk,” Eugene points out.

His lips shine pink in the moonlight.  
  
“Not very,” Babe protests, petulant. In fact, this very moment he feels entirely too sober.  
  
“Edward, we can’t,” Eugene repeats, stepping away from Babe. Without the warmth of Eugene’s body, Babe can quickly feel the cold brushing over him. “Let’s talk about this tomorrow.”  
  
Yeah. Right.  
  
Or, never.  
  
Babe leaves the balcony, leaves Eugene standing there, without another word. It’s like he’s on auto pilot, because he finds himself standing in his dorm room, alone.  
  
The next morning, Babe wakes up, head splitting, disgusted at the amount of light pouring in and the groans as someone heaves their guts into what Babe can only hope is a bucket, and promptly remembers that Renee Lemaire exists.  
  
And that she’s dating Eugene.  
  
Who Babe made out with on the balcony.  
  
Oh Merlin.

Babe’s a total homewrecker. 

 

\--

  
  
Babe does what any self-respecting wizard would do.  
  
He spends the entire day, in bed, moping.  
  
Not that anyone really notices all day; the entire House is definitely sleeping off considerable hangovers (and in the case of younger students, an adrenaline rush and a late night), and the majority of the students are also spending the day in bed. Julian, spends the entire morning whimpering into a bucket, until Spina throws the last of his hangover potion at him, a gallon of water, and an anti-nausea spell at him before snapping the curtains around his own bed shut.  
  
So, Babe spends the entire day moping, guilt eating at his conscience. He likes Renee, really. She’s smart, and gorgeous, and he’s never ever heard her say a bad word about anybody, and there he goes, making a move on her boyfriend. His Ma would be so disappointed if she knew.  
  
No one really disturbs Babe until late in the afternoon when Bill flings the curtains around Babe’s four poster open and peers down at him where he’s sitting up.  
  
“Why aren’t you coming down to dinner,” Bill asks, square jaw jutting out even more, like he’s thinks Babe’s pranking him. “It’s Sunday, they’re serving your favorite apple pie.”  
  
“I kissed Eugene,” Babe replies, idly. Bill blinks, clearly thrown by the direction of the conversation. “And he kissed me back. But then he said we couldn’t keep kissing. And he’s still dating Renee. And I think that makes me a homewrecker, you should just call me Homewrecker Heffron from now on, only please don’t tell my sister she’d completely disown me and don’t let my Ma know, you know she’d-“  
  
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Bill mutters over the top of Babe’s impending break down. He throws a roll of socks at Babe, clocking him right in the face, and pushes him over, gently. “Always getting yourself into messes, aren’t you, Babe?”

“HOMEWRECKER HEFFRON!” Babe wails into his pillow.

“Yeesh, shut up, I think there might be people all the way over in Ilvermorny that didn’t hear that, Jesus.”  
  
Babe glowers because that’s all he can do, really. Bill rolls his eyes.  
  
“Get up, get dressed, we’re going to dinner,” Bill says. When Babe goes to open his mouth to protest, he cuts across. “And then, after dinner, you’re gonna go talk to Roe. You’re gonna let him know that he’s been leading you on, and that you ain’t happy about it, and if he has something bad to say, let him know that good old Bill here is gonna fuckin’ fight him.”  
  
Babe blinks.  
  
“That’s probably not a good idea… I don’t think he was leading me on?”  
  
“It’s a great idea, I came up with it,” Bill retorts. “And Babe, you’ve been hung up on this guy for years. He’s been flirting with you, for years. And he’s got a girlfriend. So, yeah. That’s leading you on. I think it’s time you confronted him about this. Be brave. You’re a Gryffindor, being brave is our entire thing. You can do this.”  
  
“Is it bravery or recklessness?” Babe muses.  
  
“Just talk to him,” Bill says. He pulls Babe up to his feet and pats his shoulder. “Alright, get dressed. I’ll be back in five minutes. You better hurry because I’m fuckin’ starving but you look fuckin’ awful.”  
  
\--  
  
Dinner is subdued.  
  
Every Gryffindor student that turns up for it looks a lot worse for wear (even seventh grade Lipton looks a little peaky), and a good portion of students from the other houses share the same exhausted weariness. Even the apple pie doesn’t increase the turnout.

Across the Hall, Eugene is missing from the Ravenclaw table, but Renee is present, sitting next to Anna, eyes narrowed suspiciously at Babe.

She must know.

“What’s up?” Spina asks, kicking Babe’s foot.

Oh nothing, just that the most perfect girl in the world probably knows that he macked on her boyfriend last night, while drunk, and is definitely not happy with him at all, and she’s also really proficient with wandwork so he’s probably gonna wake up cursed, or at least, he’d wake up cursed if she wasn’t such a good person.

“Oh, nothing,” Babe replies. Bill gives him a weird look, but goes back to eating when Babe just shrugs.

The whole time Babe’s sitting there eating dinner, he can feel Renee staring at him. It’s kind of off-putting, especially with how guilty Babe is feeling, so even though he’s only halfway done with his apple pie, he stands abruptly, waves goodbye to his friends and leaves the Great Hall in search of Eugene.

He really (really) should not be surprised when he’s accosted in the Entrance Hall and shoved over into an abandoned hallway by Renee Lemaire.

She stares up at him fiercely, eyebrows drawn downwards, and, listen, Babe has a healthy fear of every single sixth year Ravenclaw girl (especially after the complete clusterfuck that was Keller v Karmanlis back in third year before they realised they were much better off being friends and Beater partners, rather than fighting each other over Bob Leckie, that left an entire hallway levelled for a week) so it’s no surprise that he shrinks back as Renee looms beside him.

“What are you doing to Eugene?” she snarls. “Out of everyone in this entire school-”

She knows!

“I’m sorry!” Babe squeals, bringing his hands up to protect his face. And then dropping one hand to hover protectively over his junk, because that’s definitely a weakness he shouldn’t expose. Those Ravenclaw girls are ruthless, and Babe refuses to go down without a fight. Or, he refuses to go down pathetically, at the very least. “I didn’t mean to kiss...”

Renee blinks.

“You didn’t mean to…?” she trails off. She narrows her eyes, but instead of looking suspicious, she just looks confused. “You didn’t mean to kiss who? Eugene?”

“I’m sorry,” Babe repeats. “Really sorry. I was drunk. And I know that doesn’t excuse what I did, because it was really shitty, especially since you guys are dating, but I promise it won’t ever happen again, and I’m just really, really, truly sorry.”

Renee stares at him in disbelief for a moment. Babe supposes that if someone told him they’d kissed their boyfriend, he’d probably be shocked as well.

“What do you mean, ‘especially since you guys are dating’?” she asks, finally. “Did you kiss Anna?”

“Who said anything about Anna?” Babe asks, confused.

“You did, you said ‘since you guys are dating’.”

“I’m talking about Eugene!”

“But, I’m not dating Eugene? I’m dating Anna!”

“No, you’re not,” Babe says, because, really now. “You’re dating Eugene. Aren’t... you?”

Oh my god.

“Oh my god,” Renee says, eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” Babe echoes. “Wait, you’re not dating Eugene? But I thought…”

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding him?” Renee asks. “Because you thought he was dating me? That’s stupid, I’ve been with Anna for two years, Heffron. Eugene is like my little brother. Where on earth did you even get that idea?”  
  
“Uh, I may have heard you tell him you loved him,” Babe admits, sheepishly. He rubs his hand across the nape of his neck and shrugs. “At Nixon’s Halloween party. It just… made sense.”

“Made sense,” Renee snorts derisively. She looks thoroughly unimpressed with this turn of events, but it’s somehow better than the righteous fury from before. “He’s been sad and pining for months because you wouldn’t give him the time of day and it just ‘made sense’. He’s been in love with you for years! Merlin, you’re an idiot.”

Babe blinks.

“He’s been in love with me? What?” He takes a moment to let Renee’s words wash over him. He grabs her by the shoulders, a little maniacally, and stares into her eyes, pleading. “Please Renee, tell me where he is, I’ve gotta talk to him.”

She stares him down for a moment, weighing up how sincere he is, but nods. “Alright. He’s in the library, at the table by that ugly statue of the Witch with One Eye. But if you ever, ever start avoiding him like that again, Babe Heffron, I swear to Merlin and the Old Ways that I will hunt you down and hex you.”

Babe’s already speeding down the moment she mentions the library, but he takes the time to throw a, “thank you, you’re the best, Renee!”, over his shoulder.

 

\--

 

Babe finds the statue easily enough (and it is ugly, just as Renee said) but the same can’t be said for Eugene.

His books are all there, as is his backpack, but Eugene is nowhere to be found. Babe takes a quick glance at Eugene’s notebook (filled with a curly handwriting - had Eugene’s writing always looked so elegant?) and sees that he’s studying for their herbology theory OWL, so Babe makes his way to the plant section of the library, mindful not run, lest he gets kicked out by the librarian for causing a ruckus.

(It wouldn’t be the first time, is all Babe’s saying.)

Standing in the aisle, holding two books like he’s weighing them between his hands, is Eugene. His eyebrows seem to be pulled into a scowl, and his shoulders are drooping more than Babe’s ever seen.

He looks exhausted.

He looks beautiful.

“Need help?” Babe asks marring the perfect silence of the library. Both books clatter to the floor tiles, loudly, and Babe dives for it. He holds it up to Eugene, who takes it without a word, just stares back at Babe. “I’m sorry about last night.”

Eugene looks down at his feet, and he looks so defeated, Babe just wants to wrap him up in a hug and keep him there for a while.

“That’s alright,” Eugene says. He’s quiet today, probably more quiet than Babe’s witnessed apart from that first meeting on the train all those years ago. Eugene looks up, holding himself like he thinks he’s gonna get hit. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, if you don’t like me like I like you.”

“What?” Babe asks. “Eugene, I like you. Like, like like you. For longer than what’s probably socially acceptable, y’know? I just. I thought you were dating Renee.”

“Renee?” Eugene exclaims. He looks really confused. Babe can sympathise. “Babe, she’s dating Anna.”

Babe rolls his eyes, “Well, yes, I know that now,” he says. He gives him a shrug. “Listen… heteronormativity is a thing, and I overheard her at Halloween telling her she loved you in French and I-”

“In a family way!” Eugene insists. He’s standing right in front of Babe, close enough to touch, and his eyes are sparkling in a way that Babe hasn’t seen, really, since Halloween. He’s starting to realise why. “And, anyway, she then went on to say how much I was moron for not kissing you in that potions classroom the day before. I thought you didn’t like me, you pulled away from me!”

“You pulled away from me,” Babe corrects. He can feel his entire face going red, and knows he’s flushed all the way down his chest. “I wanted to ask you out for that Salem weekend back in October, but I didn’t, and then I saw you there with Renee, so.”

Eugene levels Babe with a considering look.

“Well,” he starts. Eugene also blushes, and it’s very sweet, pink across the tops of his cheeks. “Next weekend is a Salem weekend. How ‘bout we go on a date?”

“Yeah?” Babe asks. He knows he’s lighting up right now, but god, is he so happy. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Babe grabs Eugene’s hand in his, and moves to walk off into the sunset (okay, to walk off towards the desk where the rest of Eugene’s stuff is. A boy can dream, though, right?) but Babe’s feet seem glued to the ground. Eugene makes a confused noise besides him, seemingly caught in the same way, and that’s when Babe looks up.

Twinkling above them, in all it’s glory, is the Matchmaker Mistletoe.

“Are you serious?” Babe gripes. The mistletoe doesn’t reply, just twinkles menacingly down at him. “It’s literally April! When did that even get there?”

“Babe,” Eugene rolls his eyes. With the hand that’s not currently gripping one of Babe’s, he grabs a fistful of Babe’s robes and pulls him towards him. “Kiss me.”

Eugene presses his lips against Babe’s and it’s so gentle, almost reverent, and absolutely perfect. Eugene presses closer, and Babe finds himself backed up against a bookshelf, sloppily kissing into Eugene’s mouth, hands curling into the soft hair above the nape of Eugene’s mouth. Eugene runs his hands up and down Babe’s side, and it’s only then that a thought crosses Babe’s mind.

He pulls away.

“Hey Eugene, you called me Babe!” he says, smile feeling like it could fight the entire world and win.

“I did?” Eugene blinks, like he’s trying to clear his head. Babe’s heart beats triple time in his chest with the realisation that he made Eugene like that, dazed and happy. “When?”

“Just now.”

“Huh,” Eugene says slowly, smile spreading across his face, opening it up, soft, and happy. Babe’s chest feels like it’s been dipped in gold, like there’s raw magic bouncing around in the places where his lungs should be. Eugene lets out a chuckle and Babe just wants to curl into the sound and stay forever. “Guess I did.”

“Babe,” Babe imitates in what he thinks is pretty good impression of Eugene’s drawl. Eugene mustn’t think it’s all too good because he just rolls his eyes in that fond way of his.

“Heffron. Shut up and kiss me.”

The get kicked out of the library but it’s worth it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Additional warnings:
> 
> There’s magical mistletoe in this fic, which holds two people in place until they kiss. This could be viewed as dub-con but the idea is that it holds two students (fifth year and older, so they must be fifteen) who are already in love but not together in place until they kiss, which is pointed out in the story, and in this story it’s reflected as consensual  
> Also, at some point, Babe (drunk) kisses Eugene, even though he believes Eugene is dating Renee. So, cheating? But not really.
> 
> I hope to get the rest of the series up and running soon. Thank you so much for reading and thank you to whip-pan and theonceandfuturecaptain for creating and moderating the Big Bang challenge.


End file.
